


Spiralling

by PinguinoSentado



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/F, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 95,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinguinoSentado/pseuds/PinguinoSentado
Summary: When Bethany Hawke flees Lothering with her family, she finds herself pursued by Templars seeking apostates and by Darkspawn that seem to be hunting especially for her. And when Tara learns of an apostate in her ranks, someone who might save them from the Blight, she instead finds someone who might finally convince her to stop running from her past.The Hero of Ferelden meets Bethany Hawke after Ostagar and a bond is formed that will carry them through Ferelden, Kirkwall, and beyond. You can also find me on Tumblr at https://pinguinosentado.tumblr.com/
Relationships: Bethany Hawke/Female Warden
Comments: 69
Kudos: 49





	1. Lothering

**Part One: The Blight ******

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******  
  


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She had never heard so much screaming in all her life. Her mother screamed, her sister screamed, Aveline screamed, and Maker how the Darkspawn screamed.

Bethany pulled fire from the Fade and let it rush over the ground in front of her, catching three of the shorter Darkspawn as they scrambled towards her. The roar of the flames was nearly eclipsed by their howls of cackling fury - they never seemed to cry out in pain - and the sheer sound of it was almost enough for her to turn tail and run. She forced herself to hold the flames until the heat became too much and she drew back with a pained scream of her own.

“Hang on!” her sister shouted as she fought off more Darkspawn not a dozen steps away. “Beth, get back!”

“I’m fine!” She wasn’t, but as the panic began to fade, she started frantically willing the burns to heal.

Cool currents of green magic began wrapping her fingers and the blistered skin returned to its normal hue. Maker, she was going to get herself killed doing this. It was just too much. If the Darkspawn didn’t kill her, she was going to burn herself to death.

_You’re too strong for that._

And if she didn’t do it herself, the voices in her head would certainly try. Lucky for her, the screaming hadn’t stopped, and the Darkspawn roars quickly drowned out whatever demon of pride had decided this body was just the right size.

Her fingers itched and still felt hot as molten iron when Aveline reached her and took her place just ahead, shield raised and covered in Darkspawn blood. Shouldn’t the metal have been melting away? How was she going to clean it off without infecting herself? Thoughts like flies buzzed around her mind and threatened to make her panic worse.

More Darkspawn were already shuffling across the hill in front of them, running less like the men or dwarves than animals pulling themselves forward through the air. They moved faster than they had any right to. The name Blight fit them all too well, the way they swarmed and thrashed and consumed everything in front of them. Soon enough they would swarm over her family, or what was still left of it.

Marian’s hand clapped her on the shoulder, jarring her almost as much as the infuriating smile that was always on her sister’s face. Even after Carver, she couldn’t bother to be properly shaken. “Come on, sister. Chin up. We’re almost there.”

Bethany, her hands shaking badly from her last spell, worked up enough energy and rage to cast another fireball down the slope to engulf several of the charging monsters. “Where? Almost where? Maker help us, that witch was supposed to save us, not drop us back in the fire!”

Her mother came shuffling up behind them, her voice raw. The death of her only son had left her red-eyed and hopeless, as if all Marian’s grief had latched on to her instead. “Where are we supposed to go? We - we can’t fight them all.”

Further conversation was cut short by an impossible-looking swing from Marian’s blade that cut a Darkspawn clean in two. Aveline moved up beside her a moment later, using her shield as a battering ram and knocking one of the slavering monsters into the dirt while she fought off a second with her longsword.

Mother made sounds of worry and came up close behind Bethany. At least that made it a little easier to stand her ground. A few bolts of fire and frost helped keep her sister from getting torn to pieces but were all she could manage at the moment. She had never used this much magic before in her life. It had always been too big a risk to even try. If she never practiced, if she just kept it bottled up and only mended the occasional broken leg or sprained wrist, then no one could find her. No one could take her away.

Maybe she should have practiced more, become a Witch of the Wilds like in the stories. She might have learned how to turn into a dragon. No Templar would have tried to take her, then.

It was a shame she hadn’t planned better for the Blight.

The Darkspawn screams didn’t stop, but they did move further away when Marian and Aveline had finished killing the ones on this particular hill, and for the first time in hours, Bethany was able to look around and see where the witch had dropped them.

Rolling green hills dotted with small but verdant groves stretched out like a half-painted canvas to the north and west, something that would have been picturesque if not for the globs of black paint bleeding onto the scene. Darkspawn roamed in packs, stalking fleeing villagers or clustered around bodies lying in the grass, doing things Bethany thanked the Maker she could not see. But when she looked away from them, she found only more despair and a greater conviction that this was the end of everything. To the east, where they had come from, were the red rocks belching smoke and ash from fires started by monster and dragon alike. Just looking back made her lungs burn and her eyes water. Somewhere in those hills was her brother, lying under an open sky without even the dignity of a burial.

She found her sister staring off to the south, toward fields of golden wheat, their golden stalks buffeted violently in sudden, wild blasts of hot wind. Beyond them was the source of that maelstrom, and no doubt thousands of other brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers lying on the ground with no stones to mark their graves. Only Darkspawn to kneel over them and attend to their earthly remains.

Lothering was burning. A thick cloud of black smoke rose over everything she had once known. The Chantry, the tallest building in the town, now looked so small when compared to the rising flames. She could barely see the top of its tower. The thing that had terrified her for her entire life, more than stories of the Deep Roads or Archdemons, the place where the invincible Templars slept, was gone with barely a fight. They had fled, leaving the town and its people to die. Seeing the smoke rise over the fields, she could not even bring herself to hate them for it. She only felt sorry for herself, wishing she had let them take her away in a cage, for surely whatever awaited her was better than this.

“Look!”

The call came from Aveline, sword arm raised toward something coming over the hill just ahead. Between them and the Imperial Highway, loping over the hill in a battered group, came a collection of men and women in well-used armor. Bethany nearly called up a fireball to burn them away, so frayed were her nerves, but she managed to stop herself. They couldn’t have been Darkspawn because they looked so pathetic in comparison, and that was something that left Bethany terrified. Where she might have seen gleaming swords and plate-clad warriors, there were exhausted soldiers wearing dented helmets and wielding bloody swords. There wasn’t any hope, was there?

The one in the lead, a woman with blonde hair and a missing eye, called out to them. “You there! What are you doing out here?”

Marian was the one who answered. “We got lost on our way to the tavern. Can you believe it?”

One of the soldiers swore and said a number of unkind things before the one-eyed woman answered curtly. “Charming. You’ve got swords, haven’t you?”

Aveline brandished her sword and gave the woman a look. “Aye. What are you doing here? Are you more survivors from Ostagar?”

“Survivors? Damn right, we’re survivors. We’re the rearguard.”

The what? Bethany looked to Marian, who’s trademark smile had abruptly gone missing. “What do you mean? The army was lost. We were there.”

“Then you didn’t stay long enough.” The one-eyed woman pointed back to the Highway. “We’ve been fighting for four days and we aren’t about to stop now. Commander told us to sweep up you lot from the village and get moving. So we’re here, sweeping, and we should be getting moving if we don’t want to end up stuck on the point of a spear.”

Someone came over the hill to their right and shouted to the woman in a gruff voice. “That’s all of them! We have to go, lieutenant!”

“You heard the man.” The woman pointed at Aveline and then at Marian. “Fight’s not over yet, soldiers. You want to run? Good sodding luck. You want to live? Follow us.”

They arrived at the Highway sweating and footsore but alive, which was more than Bethany had expected when they set out. How long that would last was anyone’s guess but Bethany was comfortable in assuming it could be measured in heartbeats.

The ramp up to the raised Highway was jammed with wagons. Men with whips slashed viciously at the terrified animals, spooking them further and adding more inhuman screams to the rising din. Soldiers ran in every direction, shoving refugees toward the span, sometimes ripping off their packs or shoving their belongings over the side as they did.

Everywhere Bethany looked, it was chaos, and the Darkspawn had not even arrived.

Not that they were far behind. The ground below the Highway was high enough to give them all an unwanted view of the carnage being wrought in Lothering’s streets and in the surrounding fields. Between them were a few scattered farmsteads and a windmill that now blazed like a torch, embers rising in the wind. A few soldiers or straggling farmers still ran across the fields or fought bravely in the burning town but all around them was a growing tide of black, its tendrils reaching and searching across the fields, and everything they touched was swallowed up by the mass, the screams of terror replaced by Darkspawn cackling.

The soldiers who had brought them here promptly shoved them not toward the ramp but toward Lothering. Aveline went eagerly, jaw set and silent as she marched. Losing her husband must have been weighing on her and she looked ready to begin smashing Darkspawn with her shield.

Marian was not so sanguine. “Wait, aren’t we going the wrong way?”

The one-eyed woman turned. “You said you were soldiers, weren’t you?”

“Yes, were, which means before now.” Marian looked toward Bethany who had taken to dragging Mother along with them and even now was holding her on her feet. “And not all of us here were in the army. Aveline and I can go but my mother -”

“She’s not a soldier? Shit, I was about to give her a hammer. Get her out of here,” the woman motioned at one of her companions who promptly made a grab for Mother. Her eyes lingered momentarily on Bethany, eyeing her up. Years of instinct told her to bolt, but the woman did not call her out. She must not have seen her doing magic. “Your mother and sister can go. You two, up front. Now.”

Bethany felt herself being dragged away. She wrenched herself free of the soldier’s grasp and made to run after her sister. “Wait -”

“It’s alright, Sister. Get out of here and look after Mother.” Marian pointed at the ramp with her free hand, her greatsword hanging easily from her other. She never did get tired of swinging that thing around. “We’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Mother now worked up another sob. “Please! Let them come with me! I can’t lose another one, I can’t!”

The soldier did not listen and kept dragging her away. Marian was being shoved away by the one-eyed woman and Aveline was walking away in a quiet fury. There wasn’t any time to choose. She had to stay with Mother. Marian could take care of herself. She always had.

Bethany tried to shout after her. “Don’t you break that promise!”

She had no idea if Marian heard her.

The soldier dragged them as far as the ramp, leading them past men and women in every state of panic. Wounded soldiers hobbled or crawled toward the ramp, sometimes with help but more often on their own. Refugees dragged crying children, barking dogs, wild-eyed horses, and oversized bundles until they could no longer walk straight. And the sound. Everywhere, everyone was shouting or screaming or sobbing in a great, ululating wail that echoed to the Black City itself.

When they reached the stone, the soldier gave them a hard shove. “There! Get up there and get moving!”

“Wait -” Bethany turned but he was already rushing back toward where her sister had disappeared. “Okay. Mother -”

“Don’t you leave, too!”

“I won’t, Mother! We’re going! Come on, up the ramp now. We’re almost there. We’re almost safe.”

The words were shouted just to reach her mother’s ears. As Mother clung to her arm, eyes wild and breath coming in shaking gasps, Bethany tried to push, wriggle, and rush her way up the stone slope. It felt like it went for miles. They were nearly shoved off the side by soldiers carrying longbows and bullying their way down toward Lothering, then again by more coming up and making their way behind barricades made of overturned carts and boxes. Maker’s breath, were they going to fight the Horde here?

She looked back to the burning town of Lothering, at the seething black cloud that had blotted out the sun, at the ash that rained down all around them. This was the end of the world. Nothing could stand against that. Nothing.

“She’ll be alright, Mother.” Bethany heard herself saying as they neared the Highway. “Don’t worry. She got out of Ostagar, she’ll get out of this, too. Alright?”

Mother’s only reply was a choking, terrible sound as she tried to stifle her tears, and Bethany reached the top to the words “No. No, she won’t.”

There were even more people up here, all of them frantically trying to make their way along the road away from the battle. Several carts were blazing with orange flames and Bethany nearly tripped on a Darkspawn corpse that had been piled against the side of the road. She looked away when she noticed that not all the bodies were Darkspawn and some wore clothing that was all too familiar. They were all just stacked there like firewood.

In the chaos, she heard more shouting and the twang of crossbows being fired. “They’re down there! In the woods!”

More voices answered. “Keep them off the bridge!” “I can’t see them!” “Just fire at something! Keep them moving!”

Arrows came flying up from the woods below, skipping off the stones and making vicious whistling noises as they flew overhead. Some thunked into the sides of wagons or arced high overhead, but others thudded sickeningly into soldiers and civilians alike, adding more screams to the madness.

Then she felt it. That tingling in the back of her skull. Magic. Lots and lots of magic.

She spun without thinking, heart hamming. Something big was coming and she did not need to be a mage to see it. Hurtling from the burning horizon came a fireball larger than anything she had ever seen. It was bigger than the wagons she had seen on the span and was still getting bigger. She couldn’t even imagine how fast it was going.

Someone else had seen it, too. “LOOK OUT!”

Her mother screamed. Hundreds of voices screamed. Even seeing it in front of her, she could still feel it more than she could see it, could feel the magic that had given it weight and fire and purpose, and knew nothing but the frigid terror that came with certain death. She heard herself scream, too, and it was all she could do to push against the massive ball of burning rubble. The strain alone nearly split her head in two and she felt herself dropping to the ground, her mother coming down beside her with a sharp yell.

The explosion was deafening. Even though it missed, falling wide of the Highway to smash against the ground below, the roar and blast of hot air catapulted a wagon over the side of the Highway and sent shards of stone flying through the air like a million angry hornets.

When the ringing in her ears began to fade, Bethany managed to get to her feet, pulling her mother up with her. Figures groaned and writhed on the ground, clutching bloody legs, chests, shoulders, or wherever the flying debris had struck them.

“YOU!”

The shout froze Bethany in place. She knew that sound. Even before she turned, she knew she would see the suit of metal armor emblazoned with a sword that spelled out exactly what kind of mercy she should expect from the monster hiding inside it.

When she did turn, she saw a drawn sword leveled at her. “APOSTATE!”

Her head still swimming from pushing the fireball away from the bridge, she heard herself say “Not again. Not now.”

“Stay where you are!” the Templar moved toward her, jostled by soldiers now getting to their feet and hurrying to help their friends. “You will be brought to justice, maleficar!”

Her mother shouted back at him. “She hasn’t done anything! Please, you can’t!”

On he came, sword drawn. No one seemed to care. Everyone just kept running or fighting or doing anything but stopping to help. She tried to reach for something but suddenly her magic was gone.

But the whispers were there. _I can save you. I can stop him. Together, we can stop them all. The Blight, the Templars, everyone._

She looked down to her mother, who had already lost her son today, who was about to lose a daughter in front of her eyes because she had been stupid enough to use magic here. She had to do something. She had to stop this. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

The Templar was only a few paces away from them when, just as Bethany felt herself starting to give in, he was suddenly flat on his face. His metal helmet slammed into the ground with enough force to set it ringing like a church bell and, for a moment she wondered if she had done that, if these were her last moments before a demon took control.

Instead, she saw a woman step over the struggling Templar, place herself between an apostate and a raging Templar, and proceeded to add insult to injury. “What in Andraste’s name do you think you’re doing?!”

The Templar staggered to his feet and rounded on the woman who had dropped him. “Stay out of this, Commander! This woman is -”

“A mage! I’m aware!”

“An apostate!” the Templar spat. “She is dangerous!”

“More so than the Horde?” the Commander snapped back.

“Yes!”

“Good!” The Commander pointed back toward Lothering. “Then she might be able to save a lot of lives today, which is more than your order did when it packed up and left without a fight.”

The Templar was back on his feet but despite towering over this other woman, was now backing away. “How dare you! I’ll -”

“Wet yourself and let the dangerous apostate do something useful? Good! Get up there with your priests, I’ve no more time to waste with you.” The Commander then rounded on the soldiers that had materialized from thin air. Bethany had not even noticed them stopping to watch the spectacle. “The rest of you! Get up the road! First Company is clearing the way, Second is on their heels! Get going!”

There was a resounding chorus of “yes, ma’am” and the stampede began again. When the Commander noticed Mother, she hauled her none-too-gently to her feet and gave her a nudge to the north. “On your way, mistress. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

“But -”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time to ask nicely, but you do have my word, for whatever that’s worth. You there! Scout! Make sure this young lady gets on alright. Stay with her until I tell you otherwise, understand?”

A passing soldier with blonde hair and a crossbow abruptly appeared beside Mother and saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”

Her mother’s protests were drowned out as she was dragged away before Bethany could muster up anything to say. When she finally did, she was halfway down the ramp and the woman had an iron grip on her arm.

“Are you mad? That was a Templar!”

The woman snorted in disgust. “He’s lucky I knocked him on his ass. I should have stuck him in the neck, but he knows how to swing a sword. So long as there’s Darkspawn to swing at, I need him. More’s the pity from where you’re standing.”

Bethany was practically tripping over her own feet as they made their way down the ramp, passing the same carts still being muscled up to the Highway, and finally came to a bit of empty ground. After the seething press she had just been pulled from, she felt the tightness in her chest lessen just a bit, just enough for her to take a full breath.

The Commander, whoever she was, was still grumbling. “I’d lay low if I were you. He might have more problems now than chasing apostates but I can’t give orders to his ilk. If they get bored during the march, they might come looking.”

That panic in her chest returned, this time crippling enough to stop her heart. The Templars had found her. Eighteen years of hiding, all for nothing. She wasn’t safe anymore, not here. “I can’t be here,” she heard herself saying. “I have to go. They’ll find me. And you, you -”

“Yes, yes, I know, you’re just making me wish I’d killed him more.” The Commander’s grip was impossibly strong and, with a sudden tug, Bethany was sent stumbling out in front of her. “Let me worry about that. I’ll add it to my list. However, that list has something incredibly terrifying sitting right at the top. Would you like to guess what that is?”

When she found her footing, she had been spun around to face the Commander, who returned her blank look with a roll of her eyes and a violent stab of one finger toward the horizon. Bethany followed that finger and, against nearly a decade of conditioning, she forgot about the Templar. She forgot about everything, everything except the cataclysm in front of her.

The black curtain of smoke, what remained of the village of Lothering, extended to the heavens in a monument to the smallness of her, her family, and all of humanity, of elves and dwarves and everything that stood before the Blight. The Maker’s punishment was certain, his will absolute, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. All the sky was dark, all the light in the world turned red as blood.

“Yeah, that,” the Commander said, giving Bethany another shove and bringing her back down to earth. “I’ve got to stop that from killing everyone behind us. We do that, then we can worry about the hurt feelings of one idiot Templar. Sound good?”

Bethany, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, managed to find her voice only after the Commander again prompted her with a shove. “How?”

The Commander grimaced. “Attagirl. Ever heard the expression fighting fire with fire? Probably not the best advice, most days, but today it’s all we’ve got.”

This time she did not need to be pushed along when the Commander started to break into a trot. Following her down the dirt path that led from Lothering to the Highway, it was not hard to see where she was being taken. The main path was blocked by a massive pileup of carts, crates, and barrels that stretched for at least twenty feet and stood half as high. Imposing on its own, Bethany also noticed figures in army uniforms rolling more barrels, these ones marked in bright red paint, into positions all around the roadblock.

On one side of the roadblock was the Highway and terrain that was hopefully steep enough to slow the Darkspawn, and on the other were Lothering’s outlying farms. Between them and Lothering were half a mile of fields laden with wheat, their golden stalks a sharp contrast to the burning village beyond. With the road blocked, this must be where the Commander thought the Darkspawn would come after them.

Here they left the road and Bethany found herself hurrying along the edge of an irrigation ditch that ran from the nearby river along the edge of the field all the way to the road behind them. She doubted it would pose much of a barrier to the Darkspawn, despite the blackened bodies floating in the water.

“We need to buy time for the others to get away,” the Commander said as they jogged. “Carts are slow and, sadly, the Horde is not. Once they get bored of Lothering, they’ll be coming here. I want to make that as unpleasant as possible.”

It only now occurred to Bethany how alone they both were. At any moment, an ogre could come tearing through the wheat and rip them both to pieces. There were other soldiers crashing through the wheat or running along the small path between fields but there could not have been more than a dozen.

Bethany slowed as she began to realize what was happening. “Me? You want me to stop them?”

“It’d be real nice of you,” the Commander answered pleasantly. “Not many mages survived Ostagar, and most of them went back to the Circle before things got really unpleasant. The ones that stayed and helped us escape are out front clearing the Highway or keeping the Horde from surrounding us. That leaves you.”

Noticing she had started to lag behind, the Commander stopped and turned around to face her. “I am sorry about this, but we’re on our last legs. If you want your mother to live, this is how you make that happen. Just a few fireballs and we’re home free, okay?”

The golden stalks seethed and snapped in the wind and made it look as though it, too, was trying to flee the Blight. Already Darkspawn clusters could be seen pushing out of Lothering and into the farmland, like inky black maggots eating their way through Lothering’s corpse. They would be here soon, and not long after they would reach the Highway.

But they were not the only creatures in the fields. Sharp screams of terror and panicked shouts to run came from figures scattered throughout the field. It was not difficult to find their source, and Bethany was horrified to see familiar shapes trying desperately to escape the Darkspawn. There were a few dozen figures, some she knew, some she did not, running from the burning wreckage that was Lothering, every one pursued by a cluster of Darkspawn. All Bethany could think was why, why had they waited so long?

The Commander again shouted to jar her from her reverie. “Hey! Come on, now. Don’t give up on me here.”

“I can’t. Those people -”

Screams from the fields cut her off. Bethany already knew what they meant but looked toward the sound all the same, watching as the Darkspawn caught up to one of the fleeing groups. Those had been her neighbors, she thought, her stomach twisting as the realization sank in. The Commander did not even blink.

“They’re already dead. These people have been dead the moment the Horde reached Lothering and they did not run with the rest. We can’t save them, but we can still save the others. The ones back on the Highway can live. Your mother can live.” The Commander closed the distance between them, placing one hand on Bethany’s shoulder and squeezing it painfully hard. “Do you understand? If you want us to get out of here alive, burn this field. You’ll be saving all of us and you’ll be doing these poor bastards one last kindness. Hey!”

Bethany felt the panic rising in her chest. Part of her knew it was true, but that part was small and quiet compared to the rest of the voices in her mind. Demons promised power and safety in numbers she had never known before. They knew she had almost given in. What would happen if she reached out for fire and was met with a demon’s embrace? What if, this time, she slipped?

The Commander swore and Bethany staggered under the weight of a hard shove. “Andraste’s ashes, don’t just stand there! I know you’re scared, but you have to do this! This is the only way! I’m giving you an order, girl!”

Just a little fire. She’d done that enough times. She tried to imagine her father helping her, guiding her through the steps as he had done so many times when she was little, but she could not picture him. All she could see was herself, Marian, and Mother, tearing through the wheat fields with the Darkspawn right behind them.

And she saw herself, a maleficar who traded lives like copper coins, setting the field ablaze. Was that all she was? Were the Templars right to hunt her?

The Commander was still shouting but had turned her attention to someone else. “Light the barricade and make sure the field goes up with it, then get back to the Highway! Maybe they won’t all get around it in time to catch us.”

Bethany felt the anger in her gut heating the air around her. If she did not do this, the Commander would turn her over to the Templars, and they would assume she had killed these people. She was being held hostage, just as surely as Mother was. The anger threatened to overwhelm her, but she would not lose herself this time. She would make no bargains today, if only because she wanted to be the one to see this woman fall.

The first fireball came down from the sky, an orange blur that smashed into the ground with the odd sound of water slapping against hard stone. The soldiers near the ditch yelped and threw their hands up in panic. The next fell near where the Commander stood, close enough for the rush of wind to blow back her hair.

She did not shy away like the others. The wind tossed her hair and sparks singed her face but she did not move, something that threatened to douse the flames of anger in her chest and replace them with cold fear. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice just barely audible over the din. “But you did what you had to do. You followed orders, nothing more. Remember that if it will give you peace.”

When she turned back to Bethany, her face was blank, her lips drawn to a fine line and the barest hints of sorrow in her eyes. It took no blood magic to know her words were false. This woman was a murderer.

“We can’t save them all. You learn that quickly, fighting Darkspawn. Trust me, and think about the people that are still alive thanks to you,” the Commander said quietly and began walking back toward the Highway. “Come, we’ve still a long way to go before nightfall, but at least now some of us will live to see it.”


	2. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After eluding Tara on the road, Bethany tries to find her family among the refugees, but the Templars are looking for her. While Bethany hides, Tara knows she needs to find the young apostate before the Templars do and she needs to do it before the sun goes down and the Darkspawn come again.

Bethany’s cheek cracked sharply against the Highway as, at long last, someone called a halt. One last burst of energy went into pushing her arms up beneath her face as the paving stones, baking all day under a blistering sun, threatened to fry her like an egg.

She was not the only one making this mistake. All around her, refugees fell onto their knees or their backs in a symphony of misery so loud the Maker himself must have heard it. Even the soldiers, both wounded and hale, groaned and swore and cursed the Darkspawn not for trying to kill them but for making them march all day in full armor.

“If you have a cart, wounded, or children,” someone was already bellowing from behind her. “Stay to the Highway. You will be told where to move it. Everyone else, down the ramp. You will be shown where to rest for the night.”

More grumbling and groaning ensued as the man continued to walk along the road, spreading his unwelcome message. Bethany managed to pull herself up to her feet, looking around and wishing she was taller. She hardly had the energy to go pushing through the crowd again.

At least she had lost the Commander. There had been many Darkspawn raids as the day wore on that, with no one watching her too closely, she had managed to slip the Commander and her soldiers. It had given her a chance to search for a familiar face, an opportunity she had made poor use of. She had not been able to find Marian or Mother. Aveline was somewhere at the front, tireless as ever. She had at least seen her, even if she had never been able to catch up. But just seeing Aveline was not enough to quell the panic rising in her chest, a panic held in check by bone-deep exhaustion and the certain death that awaited her in the shadowy badlands that surrounded the Highway.

Her hands went to her canteen, uncorking the top and listening plaintively for even a few drops sloshing around inside. There were none, of course. She had drunk most of it after the battle at Lothering, and the rest after the first Darkspawn attack on the Highway. The monsters were everywhere, never letting them rest, never giving them a moment to collect themselves. They had attacked the wagons first, crippling horses and almost seemed to be striking to wound rather than kill, to make them slow enough for the rest of the Horde to catch them. They had left dozens behind because they could not keep up. She could still hear them.

And they called _her_ a monster. Everyone said mages were dangerous, that they could kill hundreds if they got angry. The Commander had done as much with a wave of one uncaring hand, and no one batted an eye.

The crowd slowly began to rise, moving down the ramp toward the woods like a bunch of walking corpses. The refugees in their dust-caked clothes made their weary way down to where the soldiers were waving people into the woods. It seemed they were meant to gather their own water. Bethany could not help but watch in morbid fascination as the tired line of refugees disappeared into the shadowed wood. Perhaps the Commander was tired of them already and was making them a peace offering to the Darkspawn. What a wretched way to die, being offered up like this without even having a chance to rest.

It only now dawned on her that they would be sleeping here. Sleeping, with their eyes closed, flat on their backs while the Darkspawn crept up on them. They had to be close. Not an hour ago, more had sprung up from the ground, their arrows hissing around her like the whispers in her head.

She had to find her sister. And Mother. They had to get Mother out of here.

Before she could even begin looking, the clank of armored boots on stone caught her ears, and she recognized the sound of Templar footsteps even in this chaos. They walked differently, like they shook the earth with every step. After what happened this morning, they would be looking for her.

She hurried down the ramp, energy suddenly renewed by the threat of Tranquility. She would not have her mind taken from her, not here. Mother would be thirsty and Marian would be at the stream, fetching water for the both of them. This was her best chance.

She didn’t say a word as she wormed her way through the masses, passing too many desperate souls with nothing but the ragged clothes on their backs. Every one of them wore their own mask of desperation, fear, or exhaustion. Children were crying into the arms of mothers too weary even to comfort them. Soldiers moved here and there, some offering the most desperate-looking souls a drink of water and directing those not fetching water toward places to set camp.

As she went, she couldn’t help but notice how different everything looked. She was used to seeing her brother and sister in their uniforms. Here, there were dozens, if not hundreds of different getups on display. She had no idea what any of them meant but after what happened at Ostagar she could guess why they were here. This was all that was left of Ferelden’s armies. She recognized a few soldiers on the way to the road as volunteers out of Lothering. They had been in the garrison there and Bethany had learned to avoid them like all the rest. Behind them were uniforms that looked like her sister’s but with different patches on the shoulders. Near some of the tents were a few men in massive suits of badly dented armor. She hadn’t expected to see knights here. Tired as she was, all she could think about was how unbearably hot it must have been encased in all that metal.

Those trekking to the river soon passed beneath the shade of the trees. The nervous soldiers standing with bows ready at the treeline did nothing to comfort them and what small, dismal bits of conversation had been floating through the air died as soon as the sun was out of view. The dimming light made the forest even less welcoming, lengthening the shadows to give every nightmare ample space to hide. Bethany caught herself looking furiously about for soldiers and for once it was not to hide from them. It seemed there were too few of them around to keep them safe.

More than once, she caught herself eyeing those long stretches of open wilderness. The Horde was all well and terrifying, but they had only showed up this morning and she had spent a lifetime being scared to death of the Templars. Even if there weren’t any watching her right now, everyone here knew she was a mage, and it wouldn’t be long before someone decided to do the Maker’s holy work.

It would be the fear that got them. They were all tired now but tonight would be another story. The Blight was the fault of mages, after all. It would not take anything, just a little time alone with the wrong thoughts, to insight a few of them to murder. And it would need to be a few. Marian could try to protect her but she was one woman against Maker-knew how many and Bethany was not sure how much help she would be when it happened. The more she thought about it, the more tempting those game trails and goat paths became.

Someone bumped into her, knocking her off balance and nearly sending her to the dirt as her foot caught a hidden root. Her breath came out in a gasp and she reached for her staff, only catching herself as she saw the person who had jostled her. An older woman, her face stained with tears, continued up the path, eyes locked unseeing on the ground as she stumbled and fell into the next person on the path. No one seemed to pay her any mind. They were all staring at the ground, the only exceptions being those who walked with wild eyes, their heads swivelling this way and that in a frantic search for the Darkspawn.

Bethany steadied herself and tried to slow her breathing as she fell back in line with the others. No one was looking at her. No one had noticed her. Okay. This was okay. Everyone here was just as terrified and unsure of themselves as she was. They just wanted to survive. And she had helped with that. Maybe all they saw was the fire and that no Darkspawn were following them.

The stream appeared before she could finish convincing herself and her fingers still trembled as she undid the top of her canteen and placed it in the water. She had to keep her head about this. She would find her family and they would run, if not tonight then as soon as could be managed. They would also need somewhere to go. With the wilds full of Darkspawn, they would make easier prey than an army on the march.

Someone a few paces downstream from her let out a choking sound that nearly made her drop the canteen before she realized they were sobbing. It must have been too quiet to hear at first but now she could hear it plainly against the background noises of the burbling water and hundreds of people picking their way through the underbrush. It was thinner near the water’s edge but the stream was only a dozen feet wide and no more than ankle deep in most places. Downstream she could see the water narrow and begin to break up into rapids over glistening rocks but even there she could have easily walked across.

Even so, almost everyone was on this side of the water, even the soldiers. As she sloshed the water around in her canteen and indulged in a long drink, she couldn’t help staring at the open forest ahead. It would have been so easy. She could do it, too. She had enough left in her for a few spells at least. It took only a moment to refill what she had downed so greedily and push the stopper back in. That was it, then. It was either take their chances in the wilds and hope the Darkspawn kept after the army, or stay here and wait to be found.

“Apostate.”

Her blood went cold. Too late.

“I saw what you did outside the city. What you did to all those people.” Resisting the urge to bolt into the trees, she turned slowly to see the faceless helm of a Templar staring her down from a dozen paces upstream. “This is why your kind needs to be controlled, watched over by those without demons whispering in their ears.”

She was too afraid to stand from the muddy bank and the Templar seemed to loom over Bethany like an Ogre. She wanted to scream, or at least to face this monster on her feet, but her knees refused to bend. It was probably for the best. At least this way he wouldn’t see her legs shaking.

“What’s the matter? Did you think your sins could hide forever? Your kind always thinks they’re more clever than the Order, that they can hide where all the others have been found. Every one of you thinks you’re the exception. That’s how you are. That’s why they speak to you. The voices call to you because they know you will listen.”

The crowd around her suddenly disappeared, preferring to risk drought or the Darkspawn over the apostate in their midst. She might have felt frustrated or guilty or just as afraid of herself as these people were, but the looming metal casket engraved with the Sword of Mercy left her too terrified to think of anything else. Anywhere else, even Lothering, was safer for her now than this spot by the stream. Facing the Horde again would have been better than this.

“Nothing to say in your defense? There’s nothing you could say. You were born to this, you will die to this, and it is our duty to keep you from killing everyone around you when you do.” The Templar moved one heavily gauntleted hand through the air, gesturing to the refugees now vanishing into the woods. Those few that had stayed near the river were either too thirsty or too broken to care. “If it were up to me, I would have left you in a cage like that Qunari, let the Darkspawn deal with you. Something fitting in that, don’t you think? Your kind created them. Your kind brought this upon us.”

“No,” she managed, finally gathering the strength to stand and begin backing up along the waterline, her boots slipping against rocks and roots as she went. “No, I -”

“How many did you kill, apostate? How many died in that field?”

“I didn’t want to. I -”

The Templar was following her, armored boots sinking into the muddy bank. “But you did. You killed them You burned them all alive.”

“I had to! The Darkspawn were coming and - and she told me to!”

The sound of gruff and mirthless laughter echoed inside the helmet. “Of course she did. The Commander is a murderer, but you - and everyone like you - you are something else. That’s why we watch you. Why you can’t be let out into the world. A voice starts telling you what to do and…”

Bethany felt her boot slip, this time wrenching her ankle and sending her to the ground. She wanted to run, scramble away in the dirt and hide until the monsters were gone, but she couldn’t. She had to find her family. She had to stay.

The Templar stood over her, hand on the hilt of his sword. “You understand, don’t you?”

The voices in her head all screamed for her to kill him, for insulting her, for threatening her, for making her afraid. So she nodded.

“Good.” The Templar tightened his grip on his sword. “Then get up. No sudden moves. You’ll be put with the other mages where we can watch you. Maybe if you show good behavior, you won’t be made Tranquil.”

Her mouth went dry. One gauntleted hand reached down, hovering just in front of her. She looked down at it, every fiber of her being demanding that she turn the metal red hot and cook the man alive. But the gesture was not meant to help her to her feet.

“Your staff,” he said after a moment.

Bethany swallowed hard. “The Darkspawn -”

“We will protect you from the Blight. We will have no need of your spells, apostate, and if we do, you will be told to cast them.” She could practically see the Templar sneering in his helm. “You’re good at that already, aren’t you? Killing on command.”

What could she do? There were dozens of them, each one capable of cutting her off from her magic and killing her before she could find her sister.

She reached behind her, standing as she did, drew the staff over her shoulder, and placed it in his hands.

The man did not relax at all. “Good. Now, move. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying tonight.”

Meekly, she forced herself to follow, forgetting until it was too late to even grab her canteen. She had done her best, done things that would haunt her for the rest of her life, done everything she could to be the best kind of mage she could be, and this is what it got her. A life in a cage, with men with swords staring down at her, waiting for an excuse to run her through.

She followed the Templar back out of the woods and toward the camp, doing her best to keep herself from crying. This was the end.

And she went quietly. When they returned to the camp, she was not given her staff. She was sat with four other mages, all wearing Circle robes, each of which looked completely exhausted. Only one spoke to her, saying something comforting that Bethany couldn’t hear. When the Templars asked for her bag and satchels, she gave those over, too. Why not? She had already surrendered herself. They at least let her keep her clothes until they reached the Tower and could find something “more suitable.” The Templar that brought her tried even to take those, to keep her from running off, but the Maker spared her that torment at least.

As the sun went down, one of the other Templars came to her with what looked like fresh bread and a borrowed waterskin. The sheer, animal terror of having this man so close to her brought her out of her stupor temporarily.

“You’ll have to forgive Ser Aubrecht. Ostagar was hard on him. Here, you must be hungry.” He offered the food to Bethany who, not knowing what else to do, took it and held it in her lap. “May I ask your name?”

Her throat felt like she had swallowed a bag of hot needles. “Bethany.”

“Bethany. I am Ser Bryant. I promise, not all of us are here to terrorize you, but you must understand the difficulty of our position. Your kind bear a terrible burden. You may be dangerous, but you are not monsters. You are not Darkspawn.”

It did not sound like a question to her, but from the motionless metal helmet before her, she could only imagine an expectant face lurked behind the dark visor. She forced herself to nod. He was right, after all.

Ser Bryant sat back on his heels and stood, seemingly pleased. “That is good. Don’t worry, the Circle is the best and safest place for your kind. We will speak more about it later, but for now, you should get some rest. It’s been a hard day.”

He hesitated before leaving, probably looking at the bread still clutched in Bethany’s hands, but eventually did rejoin his companions not far away. From where the Templars sat, they could easily keep an eye on their charges, who had camped with the Highway at their back. Penned in on all sides, the other mages did not seem to care. They just accepted it.

Bethany looked at them all, mute and exhausted just like they were, and wondered if this would really be so bad. This was where she belonged. She was a mage first, and a human second. That was how the demon’s saw her, too. It was only fair.

That was how she bedded down for the night: too exhausted even to feel sorry for herself. Her eyelids were too heavy to stay open, and sleep took her before the others had even finished supper. She went to sleep in a place she had seen only in nightmares, surrounded by monsters who wanted to kill her just for being what she was.

Her only regret was for her mother, who had tried so hard to protect someone - something - that had given so little in return.

“I know there is an apostate hiding within your ranks, Commander! I demand that you surrender her at once!”

There were too many things that irritated Tara about that demand, ranging from its petulant tone to the way Mother Berenice spat the word Commander, for her to settle on just one. Deciding which point to argue was like deciding between a noose, an axe, or a poisoned glass of wine.

The axe, she decided, was likely the fastest. “There are several thousand men, women, and children in this column, Mother Berenice. It may distress you to learn that I don’t know all of their names and hobbies.”

“Do not play dumb with me. You struck a Templar, a man performing his sacred duty, to protect this girl.” Berenice stabbed at her with one crooked finger. “For that, you should face execution.”

A sneer of annoyance marred her face before she could stop it. She knew she should have just killed him. “Respectfully, you’ll have to get in line, and I’m afraid ahead of you is a large number of Darkspawn. Perhaps you noticed them trying to kill you on the Highway? This apostate you are hunting revealed herself to stop them from killing half the folk in Lothering, along with any meager rations you and your Templars are enjoying this evening. If you do find her, I hope you will at least have the courtesy to thank her before dragging her away.”

“You think this one act redeems a life of sin?”

Tara scoffed loudly. It may have been tactless, but she had run out of patience long before they had come to Lothering. “Did you break those fingers during a sermon, Mother, or was your life a bit more colorful before you heard the Chant?”

“How dare you!” The Mother’s face flushed, leaving Tara feeling childish but pleased. “My life before the Chantry is none of your concern! Even if it was, I have long since atoned for my sins.”

“Then I hope you will weigh her sins in the same manner, considering fully how many lives she saved in so short a time. And once you have exhausted your search for this extremely dangerous, murderous young woman, can I assume your Templars will be joining the fight against the Darkspawn? I know they run a poor second when compared to her, but there are an awful lot of them.”

Tara would not have been surprised to see steam burst from the woman’s ears. This had not been a problem leaving Ostagar - probably because no one wanted to be in charge - but Lothering had changed that. Some of these people had not seen the Horde. None of them had not seen King Cailan die, dashed across the ground by an Ogre as though he were nothing but a child’s toy. For most of them, Tara could find comfort in that small mercy, but some could have done with a rude awakening.

“The Templars have done their part admirably. They have fought your Darkspawn mages and saved the lives of your soldiers, despite my own reservations.”

“And what reservations might those be? Are you implying you would like fewer blades between you and the Blight, Revered Mother?”

Mother Berenice’s fury channeled itself into a predatory grin, giving her the mean of a back-alley cutthroat. Perhaps Tara had not altogether missed her mark. “I know your story, Commander, or should I say Recruit? You have no authority here save what your soldiers give you. It should be a Templar in command, and any one of mine outrank you. I should make you step down for sheltering this girl.”

“If your Templars believe they can do a better job, they are welcome to try, but these are my people. I have been with them since Ostagar and I will not abandon them now, not to you, and not to any Templar I have seen so far.” She had been waiting for this and found herself unwilling to suppress a cocky smirk. “Tell me, how did such fine Templars come to be stationed out here? What embarrassments did they commit during their training? Or do only the best recruits get sent off to towns of five hundred bog-dwelling farmers?”

The Mother ground her teeth in rage. “Crasamere sat at the edge of the Wilds. You have no idea the dangers these men faced each day.”

Were she to venture a guess, it probably involved getting drunk, wandering into the bog in full armor, and drowning. “Spent a lot of time fighting off witches in those wilds, did you?”

“Enough!” Berenice snapped, straightening her robes in a bootless attempt to compose herself. “I will take my leave. Pray I do not return with your replacement.”

“Oh, I look forward to meeting them.” Tara pointed sharply over the woman’s shoulder to the front of the tent. “Waste your own time hunting apostates, if you are so determined, my soldiers have real monsters to fight. And if you do happen to see her, be sure to pass on both my gratitude and my sympathies.”

Miracle of miracles, Mother Berenice actually turned and began storming from the tent, calling over her shoulder “I will not forget this!”

“Neither will I,” Tara grumbled, waiting until the tent flap closed again before resting her forehead in one hand. “Though it won’t be for lack of trying. Maker, what a headache.”

Staring at the tent flaps, now glowing orange in the setting sun, Tara spared a moment’s pity for the poor girl she had met on the road. She had saved the lives of everyone in the column without being asked and Tara hadn’t even gotten her name. If the Maker had any mercy in his heart, the girl would find a way to keep herself hidden.

But only from the bad people. Tara looked up at the sound of fluttering canvas and saw a slightly more welcome headache walk in. After a Genlock had taken her eye during the final hours at Ostagar, Sergeant Eleisa clung firmly to her sunny disposition, perhaps worried that if she let her mood sour, her golden hair would turn black along with it.

“A very angry woman in Chantry robes nearly ran me over outside. I assume that’s your doing?”

Tara made a noncommittal noise. “I can’t take the blame for that, though to be honest I probably didn’t help. She wanted me to hand over our apostate friend.”

Eleisa made a face but let the matter drop, giving Tara a moment of silence she was sure to cherish before bringing more bad news. “My scouts have found no Darkspawn on the road ahead and they’ve had no skirmishes in the woods so far. Those bringing up the rear indicate the Darkspawn are following at a distance. They’re about, but they’re keeping their distance. I don’t like it.”

There was never much hope they’d stop in Lothering, but Tara had foolishly indulged it all the same. “How many?”

“More than enough,” Eleisa answered grimly. Tara nodded, sharing a look they both had known too often. They had been outnumbered since Ostagar, after all. “There are some reports that the bulk of the Horde remains in Lothering, settling in and rooting out anyone hiding in the hills. There were also confirmed sightings of large groups heading south. They had survivors with them.”

No one liked to talk about that. Whatever awaited those poor souls beneath the earth, they would never see the sun again. Tara cursed softly and offered them what prayers she knew, for however little they were worth.

“We saved as many as we could,” Eleisa said when she noticed Tara’s mood. To her great surprise, it sounded sincere. “You were right. It was worth going.”

“And how many did we lose?”

“Can’t say.” When it became apparent that Eleisa found that answer sufficient, Tara prompted her with a hard look. “Two squads of scouts from my company didn’t return from the outskirts, and there were maybe a dozen killed or wounded on the road. I’ve asked around and no one seems to have a good count. As for the ones left behind… twenty-seven, all told.”

Tara had always hated mathematics and her instructors had always despised her in equal measure, so it should have been no surprise that the ruthless arithmetic demanded by the Blight came so unnaturally to her. Wagons had broken down, arms and backs had grown tired, and the Darkspawn were always getting closer. Some of those wounded were Blighted anyway, or so the medics said. They wouldn’t have lived much longer, regardless.

The sums were obvious, but that made them no easier to stomach. Tara noticed Eleisa’s face and spoke up. “It was my decision, not yours, same as when we went to Lothering. Their deaths are mine, Sergeant.”

Being reminded of her rank only made Eleisa grimace. She wanted so badly to help, to take on as much of this burden as she could carry. A good soldier in a singularly bad war. “You can’t take it all on yourself, Recruit.”

“Commander,” Tara answered, as though saying the word was argument enough. “And that’s exactly what I am meant to do. I am responsible for my orders.”

She waited for a rebuttal but Eleisa again held her tongue. It was almost disappointing. Eleisa was one of the few people she felt she could truly speak at least somewhat openly to. She needed her to be a voice of reason, a counterpoint, like when she had argued for leaving Lothering to its fate.

“Any sign of our favorite apostate?” Tara asked more quietly when the silence stretched.

Eleisa shook her head. “Nothing from my people, though she could hardly hide if you had every soldier looking for her.”

“I won’t turn this into a manhunt,” Tara replied flatly, the memory of Berenice’s anger still fresh in her mind. “The whole of the army hunting for one apostate hiding with the refugees? I can’t risk anyone getting the wrong idea. She would be dead by sundown.”

“It might not make a difference. The Templars are already looking for her.”

“And I assume she has been avoiding them for most of her life. If she can’t avoid the giant, metal men in a sea of refugees, I don’t know how I can help her short of drafting her into the army.”

Eleisa snorted derisively. “Yes, the mage who doesn’t want to use her magic. What a great soldier she will make.”

A quiet chuckle was the only retort Tara offered. The poor girl had been terrified before being dragged off into an empty field with a bunch of armed men. Being ordered to burn down her home could hardly be expected to help matters.

“Perhaps she’ll be better off in the camp,” Tara said at last. “If I had it my way, I’d put her between us and every Emissary that came after us. At least this way she just has to worry about Templars.”

Eleisa only shrugged. “I doubt she will see that as a kindness.”

“A fair point but right now it’s the best I can do. Is there anything else?” Tara waited until Eleisa shook her head. “Very well. We’re staying here for the night. That means more raids.”

“Big ones,” Eleisa added unhelpfully.

Tara unfortunately had to agree. “They know where we are and we made poor time out of Lothering. See to the perimeter as best you can but keep your scouts to the Highway. They can move fast, pick off stragglers and plug any holes in the line. I’ll sort out perimeter guards.”

Two weeks ago, the difference between light and heavy infantry was as opaque as a saber versus a longsword. Now it was her job to fit them together like puzzle pieces, only all the pieces were upside down. She just had to hope that, when she flipped it over, the picture still made sense.

Eleisa saluted, fist to chest, and gave a smart “Yes, Ser!”

Tara looked around for something to brain her with but no sooner had Eleisa vanished than another figure darkened her door. There was always something she needed to do. She should hire someone to take names and shoo away the undesirables.

Seeing a wizened figure step through, it took no master tactician to know this would be a long evening. Tara let out a small sigh before barking “Sergeant!”

A moment later, Eleisa reappeared. “Yes?”

“Find Ser Mareth and tell him to begin organizing a perimeter watch. I’ll find him when I can.”

Eleisa nodded and vanished once more. The older woman turned back to see her, suppressing a cough. Maker, how this woman had managed to march all day in the hot sun was a wonder.

“My Lady, thank you for coming to help us. So many of us owe you our lives. Without you, the refugees would have no one to look to.”

That was not what she was expecting. Tara stood, stone-faced, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “You have my thanks, mistress…”

“Miriam. Elder Miriam, the others call me.”

She proved the most polite visitor of the day, though that just made it worse when Tara found herself unable to meet the demands of the refugees. Blankets were not in short supply, they were nonexistent. They had gone out of fashion along with cookware, bedrolls, and roofs.

When she finally did manage to see to the perimeter, the sun had gone down, and as she walked along the edge of camp and peered out into the darkness, she was certain that hundreds of unseen eyes stared back.


	3. Alone in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Darkspawn ambush the refugees their first night outside Lothering, and Bethany does not miss her chance to flee the Templars and seek out her family

She woke to screaming.

The sound that jarred Bethany awake was neither human nor Darkspawn, but equine. Somewhere - it sounded like it was just behind her - a horse was making sounds like it was being eaten alive. It was a sound that, until yesterday, she had only ever heard from the other side of the Veil.

She scrambled to her feet, staring wide-eyed into the darkness and hoping this was yet another vivid nightmare. The world she saw was a seething mass of shadows lit only by torchlight, glowing eyes, and flashing blades. It was made even darker by the rain that now wept over the camp, falling in a drizzle that every southerner knew would soon turn to a torrent. She had been so exhausted that she must have slept through the beginning of the storm.

The sounds coming from those shadows were even worse than the sights, like people being turned inside out. Like Lothering all over again. Everything from the day before came back in a rush and more and more she believed that this insanity could only exist in the Fade.

The sight of the Templars with their swords drawn was almost enough to make her turn and run before she realized they were facing outward, shields raised against the darkness. All the madness, the noise, the certain death that waited out there, kept her rooted even as she looked for ways to slip away. She felt so helpless she wanted to scream. If the Darkspawn killed the Templars, how could she stop them on her own? If she tried to stop them and help the Templars, they would kill her for doing magic without permission. Was she to wait here, quiet, and allow whatever monster found her first the pleasure of cutting her open?

She quashed the childish rage that came with finding oneself in a corner. She was still here, and she would not give up her life without first trying to keep it for herself. The Templars had not turned around and neither had the Darkspawn overrun them. That gave her time. Just like the whispers, this madness was real, and it would kill her if she let it.

Next to her, where she expected to find the other mages, were a cluster of men and women in Chantry robes. They looked as terrified as she felt, hands clutching small daggers and looking frantically into the darkness. Only one, a woman with shockingly red hair, looked like she knew what she was doing. Bethany recognized her from the Lothering Chantry. She had seen her in the gardens, heard her telling stories to other children. After losing her family and her home all in one day, she clung to that shred of familiarity like a drowning woman to driftwood.

The woman noticed as she edged closer and even offered her a kind smile. “I thought I recognized you. Your name was Bethany, was it not?”

Her thick accent made understanding her over the din of battle almost impossible, but Bethany nodded, wiping rainwater from her eyes. “I - yes. What’s happening?”

“Darkspawn attacked the camp. It seems they do not want us getting away from them.” She said it so matter-of-factly that she could have been giving her directions to the inn. “But do not worry. It will be alright. You are safe here.”

Even over the screams of the dying, Bethany nearly believed her, so calming was the woman’s voice. Nearly, but not quite, and a blood-curdling scream cut off by the wet sounds of steel meeting flesh brought Bethany back to the brink. “My staff. I need it.”

“Ah, you want to help? Of course you do. You’re a brave one.”

Bethany was already too panicked to properly react to that comment. This woman was clearly insane. She thought she knew her name, but it was so difficult to remember. All the fleeting moments of peace and joy she had found in the Chantry had been torn away by the howling of the Darkspawn.

The woman hummed, stirring more fragments of impossibly peaceful memories. She had such a beautiful voice, one made for songs and summer days. “I will get it for you when we have a moment. Assuming you promise to be good.”

“I - what?”

The woman laughed and for the first time the other Chantry priests noticed there was a crazy person among them. Leliana. That was her name. How could she have forgotten her? “I am only playing with you. I did not know you were a mage! Is that why you sought the cloister? I’m so sorry, I should have noticed, should have come to you sooner. Here I thought you -“

Her words were cut off as someone nearby screamed and the horrible sound of steel being rammed through metal and flesh alike came from just outside their ring. One of the Templars yelled in surprise and was pushed backward by something slamming into his shield. Bethany turned to watch and saw, in two vicious swings, the Templar drive his sword into something small with glowing eyes and grey skin.

“No more time for talking,” Leliana said lightly as she moved to follow him. “Your staff is back there, with the others. Do not be afraid, Bethany. Stay beside me through this and we can speak again in quieter times.”

All Bethany could think to say in reply was “I hope so.” For everything else that was wrong with her, Sister Leliana had at least brought a little calm to what was otherwise a terrible storm.

It made her feel terrible to lie to her, as mad as that was. She was not supposed to be here and whether she lied about it or not, the Templars were going to kill her given half a chance. That was something she knew in her bones to be true.

No sooner had Leliana gone than one of the Templars looked back in her direction. “Apostate! Stay where you are! The other mages will -”

Something slammed into him, tossing him to the side and distracting his companions as it did. A massive Darkspawn in twisted armor with a great axe began swinging in wide arcs, the blade drawing sparks from the Templars’ metal hides. Leliana somehow ducked beneath the swing, dancing back behind a pair of Templars as they rushed to put it down. While all the rest seemed clumsy on the slick grass, Leliana moved as though on cobbled stone.

Her eyes were torn away when more dark shapes came rushing in behind this one, going for the priests, the mages, and for her.

She decided the Templars were too busy to give her permission and so bolted for the back of the camp, chased by two of the smaller Darkspawn. They were faster than they had any right to be and she barely outran them, splashing through small puddles until she reached a canvas shelter where her staff had been hidden away. She had just enough time to grip it and turn around before the first of the monsters was on her. With a shout, she channeled a spell on instinct and swung her staff like a cudgel, batting the monster aside and launching it backwards into the night. The second came right on its heels, dagger raised, and nearly reached her before she burned it away with fire from her fingertips. That the fire caught, driving the spawn away even in the rain, seemed a miracle.

When the fire faded and the Darkspawn lay dead, she looked around for Templars and thought it too good to be true when she saw none. Surely they would seek to punish her for not dying like a good maleficar. Her flames had kindled on one of the priests’ tents and was continuing to grow brighter despite the rain. The orange glow would give her away the longer she stood in the light and the use of magic would surely draw attention.

But there were no Templars watching her, and the apostate in her was now wide awake. There would never be another chance like this. Every night she stayed was another chance for them to tire of her, for them to feel threatened by her and take her mind away.

Where Darkspawn might have stayed her feet, Tranquility spurred her on. If worse came to worse, she could come back in the morning, but she was alone and her family was out there, in the darkness that hid a thousand hungry monsters. She did not waste another second, bolting out into the darkness, her own cries joining the mayhem as she called out for her sister.

Only the Darkspawn answered, and they did so from every corner. The small ones ran through the camp, slashing and stabbing at anything in their way. They didn’t even seem to care if they killed anyone. One nearly knocked Bethany over before she managed to freeze it in place. It stood there, teetering, before almost comically plopping into the dirt. A moment later, someone in bright red armor came by with a hammer and shattered it like glass. He raised it to her in salute before charging off again, probably thinking she was one of the Circle mages.

She did not think to call after him and soon he was out of sight, leaving Bethany surrounded by thousands of terrified souls and still completely alone. Her frantic searching in the sea of faces for those of her family was cut short by the sudden howling of Darkspawn and the panic that came from hearing it so close at hand. They came hurtling from the shadows, grins flashing in the light, and even the slightest movement in the dark soon made her panic like a child. It must have gone on for hours.

When her throat grew tired of screaming, she gave her legs a rest and came to a stop at the edge of a clearing, the sounds of battle fading to something below a roar for the first time all night. It was the first open space she had seen and knowing how cramped the camp usually was, it terrified her. Wherever she was, this was the wrong place, and she knew it even before she began counting the bodies at her feet.

The Darkspawn knew it, too. In a panic that saved her life, she drove her staff into the ground and threw a wall of flames around her, as much for the light as for the protection. Suddenly the darkness writhed and screamed, taking the form of Darkspawn all around her. She had run right into them. On every side, the creatures howled, hacking angrily at the flames or rolling on the ground to put them out. They even drowned out all the shouting behind her, where the rest of the camp must have gone. How had she gotten here? This must have been the edge of the camp. Or the center. The Darkspawn could have killed everyone while she slept. The Commander’s body could have been among those at her feet, along with her family, her neighbors, and all the people she had known for so long. She might be the only one left.

The Spawn seemed to shrink away from the flames momentarily but they stayed at the edge, groaning and howling and chittering as they stared hungrily at her. The whispers in her head grew louder. The demons knew what would happen next. The Darkspawn were _hungry_. Hungry for _her_. They would take her, drag her below ground, and -

“Oh, shut up!” She punctuated the outburst with a blast of lightning that dismasted one of the larger Darkspawn, tiny bolts of energy crackling like spiderwebs in the pouring rain. “If you want my body, you could at least promise me a moment’s peace. Tempt me with just one moment and I might give you what you want. Maker, what a wonderful thing that moment would be.”

More Darkspawn clawed at the edge of the fire, some taking running leaps through the flames to try and get at her. She burned them brighter, the rain turning to a downpour and causing steam to rise all around her. Even still, she will the flames to burn brighter, and through fire and ice and lightning and luck, she fought on.

She did not know how many Darkspawn came for her, only that when one of the large ones fell, half his body charred by lightning, the clash of steel rang out from behind her and she turned to see a more familiar nightmare approaching. A Templar hacked his way through two Darkspawn, his sword dripping with gore as he finished off the second. He looked up at her, face unreadable behind the steel plate, and hailed her with his shield arm.

Bethany watched the flames reflect in the water that now streamed from his helm and did not answer. She should be dismissing them, but the Darkspawn were still all around her. And she hardly felt safe letting a Templar get close to her. She was still clinging to the hope of finding Mother in all this and, somehow, escaping into the night. It was nothing short of suicide, but part of her no longer cared.

The other part quietly wondered if the Circle would really be so bad.

“Stand down, Bethany,” the man called at last. She recognized Ser Bryant’s voice even muffled inside his helmet. “You’ve done well. Come back to us, now.”

Bethany hesitated. She knew it was the right thing to do. She raised one hand toward the flames and willed them away. Not all of them, just the ones between her and the Templar. Her fear of the Darkspawn now felt like something safe and sure. Choosing to fight for her life was suddenly so much easier than surrendering it to someone else.

Ser Bryant nodded but did not come closer. “I know things were frightening, so we’ll forgive you for taking your weapon this once, but it will not happen again. You are still an apostate. Do you understand, girl?”

Straight to the point, wasn’t he? They might as well put her in a cage. The bars might provide more protection that the robes they wanted her to wear. At least her current clothing had a bit of chain around her middle.

She let the staff fall to her side. There was never any point in running. All of this was pointless, nothing more than the desperate acts of a frightened child. “Alright. I -”

Something roared in the dark, drowning out her words, something she would know anywhere. The same thing that had killed her brother.

Ser Bryant didn’t seem to care. His gaze never moved, or if it did, the helmet did not move with it. “Come with me, Bethany. There is no need to be afraid.”

Behind him came the thundering footsteps of something large and horrible. Bethany stared in horror as the shadowed mass, easily three times her height, came toward her with terrible certainty. She threw her hands up, calling on all the fire she could muster to drive it away.

No fire came.

Ser Bryant yelled, shield raised defensively as he closed the Fade to her. “I should have known better! Put the staff down, apostate! Don’t make me -”

He got no further. The Ogre reached him, gripped him in one giant hand, and raised him off the ground. She watched in horror as, hacking and slashing at the creature’s wrist, the man’s body was crushed like a fallen leaf, crumbling to the earth in a heap no longer recognizable as something living.

Then it turned its eyes on her. It grinned, loping forward in two great strides before it was on top of her, its hands eagerly outstretched to grab her.

Bethany screamed. Incoherent and terrified, she fell backward, desperate to put something between her and the thing that wanted her dead. A sleeting wind of ice and snow slammed the Ogre in the face, knocking it back and turning the world in front of Bethany to a white sheet. Her entire body began shivering violently and, for a moment, she was nearly sick on the ground, but the Ogre was still reeling. She could hear it thrashing around, making horrifying, inhuman noises that were monstrous even for a creature such as this.

Her own panic kept her from realizing what she had done until she saw the monster staggering away. It clawed at its face, reeling and stumbling over a rut in the ground before falling to its side. She had frozen its eyes. Spines of frost extended from its right arm and stabbed into its chest as it stumbled about, drawing more blood as it tried to swat them away with its other hand. Such a terrifying monster, now made helpless by one spell.

One spell that could have saved her brother, had she been brave enough to cast it.

Suddenly, all her fear was replaced by rage. She was angry. So, so angry. At the Templars for corralling her, at the Commander for using her, at herself for killing all those people in Lothering, and at this monster for taking her brother. This thing had made her brother feel helpless, had made them all watch as it killed him. It deserved to suffer.

She heard herself screaming at it. “Come on! What?! Are you afraid?!”

Fire leapt from her fingertips, scorching the back of the Ogre and causing it to howl in pain. Good. She wanted it to hurt.

Feeling something primal inside the Ogre, she reached into its head and pushed. The monster screamed, this time in terror, thrashing on the ground and swatting at something in the air only it could see. She wasn’t sure how she had done it, but she wanted to do it again. Her vision red, she pushed harder. And harder.

Until something snapped. The Ogre, with a final, gurgling breath, sagged to the ground, dead, steam rising from its mutilated corpse.

Her rage spent, Bethany felt the world come back, spinning all around her as she fell to her knees.

After a long silence, someone came up beside her. “You alright, miss?”

Bethany would have shot to her feet if not for the armored hand on her shoulder. She sputtered for a moment before her tongue remembered how to work. “I think so.”

The figure knelt and Bethany saw a man in green scale armor looking at her in barely-concealed horror. “Okay. Why don’t you get up and we’ll get you away from all this. That sound good?”

Maker, she wanted nothing more than to burn him alive in his armor. She wasn’t an invalid or a demon just waiting to murder him. He shouldn’t be talking to her that way. He should be taught a lesson.

“Yes,” she managed, rubbing her forehead and feeling all the tension in the world leave her shoulders. How close had she come that time? “Yes. Thank you.”

The man nodded slowly and helped her to her feet. It took her a moment before she noticed the crowd gathered around her. From the sound of things, the fighting here had come to a stop. Elsewhere in the camp, swords still clashed and the distant _boom_ of spells still echoed harshly off the stone side of the Highway, but all sounds of battle here had gone. All that remained was the groaning and moaning of the wounded.

That was something she could help with. The man leading her was watching her closely, his hand still on his sword. As they made their way between tents, she tried to slip out of his grip without startling him.

Now it was his turn to jump. She tried to raise her hands in a gesture of harmlessness, but all it probably did was emphasize the staff in her hand. “Please. I can help these people.”

The man hesitated as, as though on cue, someone in one of the nearby tents let out a scream of pain. There were no Templars around, and whether this soldier took that as a good or bad thing Bethany could only guess, but she took it as a small apology from the Maker. The last day had been filled with unremitting horrors, stolen away her brother, had frayed her nerves until she wanted to break down in tears, and had seen eighteen years of careful, tortuous hiding rendered pointless as the Commander revealed her to all the world as an apostate.

But now, now she could help someone. She could at least do something good with her curse.

She pushed her way into the tent and found six soldiers cramped in a space that should only have fit two. There were no heaters, magical or mundane, to tend to their wounds, and so they were left here, unable to see even what was happening outside, hoping that whatever opened that tent flap was not a Darkspawn.

All attention was on her. A woman with blonde hair, red armor, and a vicious wound that had ruined her left eye raised her head off the ground. “Are you a healer?”

Bethany picked her way across the tent as fast as she could. “I am. I’m here to help.”

One of the other soldiers broke into sobs, though that could have been from pain as much as from relief. The woman only nodded. “Maker bless you. Thank you.”

Her magic came slowly to her, now. She found herself exhausted from the fight with the Ogre, but this was something she forced herself to do. What she had done to the Darkspawn had been horrible and the thought of doing it again left her sick to her stomach. It made her understand that much more why the Templars hated her, why everyone was so afraid of her. She had reached into that creature’s mind, ran her hands along its twisted surface, and crushed it until nothing remained but fear.

For the Darkspawn, she could not bring herself to feel regret, nor did she have any desire to change that, but the thought of doing that to another living thing was beyond comprehension. It was wrong. No one should have that kind of power.

But she did, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not escape it, could not be rid of it. She would never be normal.


	4. Stay of Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany returns to the rest of the mages only to find the Templars in an uproar over their comrade's death

The field was half underwater by the time Bethany returned to where the Templars made their camp, the downpour continuing even after the Darkspawn had gone. On her way she had been forced to wade across shallow lakes broken by pockets of dry land like sandbars where miserable figures huddled against the storm. Some had managed to start fires beneath makeshift cloth shelters but they were always small and only added to the atmosphere. Even with the Darkspawn no longer running rampant, it felt like the end of the world.

She stopped outside another of those tiny clusters of humanity shivering against the cold and the dark. Not one of them looked up at her. They looked like refugees rather than soldiers, but if they did come from Lothering, there was too much rain and mud for her to recognize them. Perhaps that was for the best. All of this still felt like a terrible dream. If she did not see any familiar faces, she could still believe in the possibility of waking up and finding Carver, blessedly alive and freshly back from Ostagar, dripping water on her head as part of some new and awful prank.

Ahead of her, among the scattering of bedrolls, lean-tos, and tents, one of which she had burned to cinders, was a clump of dark figures huddled around a small fire pit. This still glowed with orange flame and was bright enough that Bethany knew offhand it must have been fueled by magic. Most of the figures looked small and were wearing cloth or a few bits of leather, making them priests or mages, but she could easily see several more hulking figures stalking about the edges of the firelight.

She should have run. She wanted to. Better to die fighting the Darkspawn in the wilderness than locked in a cage, and she shuddered to think what torments the likes of Ser Aubrecht would visit on her before she was allowed to leave this life. There was no doubt in her mind that, if he had his way with things, Tranquility would come as a blessing.

The whispers of the demons had hardly begun before she waved them away irritably. Her father had taught her to guard against temptation, but he had never told her just how annoying the damned things could be. Sometimes it was easier to resist them out of spite than strength of will. Ser Aubrecht had done nothing to her so far, only what had been asked of him by the Chantry. She was just jumping at shadows again, afraid of things she could neither change nor avoid. They had found her, and that was the end of it.

As she finally began moving her feet, ready to trudge the last hundred feet to her prison cell, someone grabbed her arm hard enough to stumble her. “Are you mad?!”

Bethany jumped so badly she would have gone down in the grass if not for the woman’s iron grip on her. She knew that voice. “Leliana! What are -”

“You cannot be seen back here!” The Chantry sister tugged her back with more force than a cloistered sister should have been able to muster and pulled her behind a nearby tent. “I suppose I should be glad. That you are back means you are surely innocent. No guilty woman would return so readily to the headsman’s axe.”

It was difficult enough to keep her feet and she only managed in large part because Leliana refused to let her falter. The woman’s grip had her as surely as if she were shackled and she barely seemed to notice the slippery ground. Again, Bethany tried to speak. “What are you talking about?”

“Mother Berenice returned in a fury. She said you killed Ser Bryant. Is that true?”

Now Bethany did falter. “No. No, of course not, I - oh, Maker.”

Leliana pushed her further out of sight and nearly sent her headfirst into a small pool of water. “No time for that, my friend. You did not kill him, or you would not be here, but I fear such reasoning is beyond those that search for you. Their blood is up and they have already shed much this night. A few more drops in vengeance will not give them pause. You cannot stay here. We must get you away.”

Bethany stammered, looking around in a blind panic as the world collapsed around her. “Where? Where can I go?”

“I do not know but you must try and get away. Is there no one else here that can hide you? You had family in Lothering. I remember your sister, and your brother, too.”

Suddenly every shadow held a Templar ready to execute her on the spot. “I don’t - my brother is dead. I haven’t seen my sister or my mother since Lothering.”

Leliana made a pitying noise that only set her nerves on edge even more. “I am sorry. I did not know.”

More noise came from the Chantry tents. Shouting. Angry voices, and Ser Aubrecht’s was the loudest among them. Bethany froze, unable even to look beyond the side of the tent and see what was happening.

“No more time for this, I’m afraid,” Leliana said, ushering her away from the cluster of tents that had suddenly become both her prison and the only place in the world she was safe anymore. “I will try to calm them. If nothing else, I will buy you time. Go, find somewhere safe.”

That was all the direction Bethany would get, all Leliana would impart save for one final reassuring squeeze of her shoulder before she turned and splashed across to the shouting Templars. Bethany now realized, with horrible certainty, that she was alone. The familiar terror of the Templars returned, only now it was amplified one thousand fold with the certainty that they would not take her to the Circle. If they found her now, they would kill her.

_Better to die fighting._ This time, when the voices whispered to her, she found them hard to ignore. _They are weak, their numbers few, and far from their friends in the Circle. This is the best chance you will have to fight back._

Splashing back through the standing water, eyes shielded against the sleeting rain, she felt every eye in the camp on her. There was no room for fear of Darkspawn here. Somewhere behind her, she heard Ser Aubrecht bellowing at Leliana. She would not have long before he came looking. Just from hearing his voice, she knew that Leliana would only be able to buy her a few moments.

Just as she crossed the first stretch of ground, she nearly ran headlong into a group of soldiers. Men in armor chuffed across the flooded fields, shouting to one another as they ran. Bethany threw herself to the ground and found the water deeper than she imagined. Doing her best to stay silent, she crept forward to the edge of the next dry patch of ground. The men were yelling about Darkspawn. They could not possibly be looking for her.

A part of her knew where to go. She did not like it, but there was only one person mad enough to stand up against the Templars, only one person who might protect an apostate if she fought against the Darkspawn for her. From where she knelt in the darkness, crouched among the grass and battle refuse, she watched the soldiers continue moving across the field. She had no choice. She would go and beg for her life, beg to be protected by the same woman who had burned her home and turned her into a murderer.

It was either this debasement or something far worse that now stalked her through the shadows.

Placing one hand on a nearby rock, she pushed herself up, steadying herself as it shifted in the muddy ground. Only it wasn’t a rock.

She ripped her hand away as soon as she saw the face. A dead Darkspawn, grinning even after it had been split nearly in half by a greatsword, bobbed in the shallow water. Terror seized her. There must have been blood everywhere. In the dark she could not see it but surely it now covered her arms, legs, and the hand that had just touched its foul skin. The water here would be soiled, too, and she had just gone face-first into it.

In a moment of panic, she staggered out of the water, scrambling across another of those tiny islands in the growing lake and forgetting all about going unseen. A few refugees looked up, terror in their eyes, but she ran on before they could cry out. She tried again to shield her eyes against the rain, peering toward the Highway and her last hope at a life lived freely.

A dim golden light, like an apparition in the Fade, a memory of the Golden City, shimmered in the haze. She could see it, now. The tent stood at the top of a small rise and would have soldiers guarding it but from here she could not see anything more than the light.

_She is dead. Your Commander, your only safe haven in this storm, is dead. No one will save you when they come for you._

“Apostate!”

The shout did not freeze her as it did before. It sent her into another dead run.

_Fight. Fight or die, mortal. Waste your pathetic life in fear, or take my offer, and know true freedom. True power._

She ran on. Behind her came the thundering footsteps of Ser Aubrecht. Leliana may have bought her time but it had not been much at all. Maker, she could be dead for shielding an apostate.

Across the last river she splashed, scrambling up the bit of high ground that held the command tent. Hardly more than ten feet above the flooded plain, it nevertheless stood like a mountain above everything else. Two men stood sentry outside the tent, each one holding a spear that was now leveled at Bethany as she rushed up the hill.

“I must see the Commander! It’s urgent!”

_She will not save you. I alone can grant you strength enough to survive this._

The two guards exchanged looks. The bellowing behind her continued but the wind seemed to be drowning it out, thank the Maker. In the sudden gust, she could hear some of what was being said inside, and she very clearly heard a woman shouting angrily about an escaped mage.

Even as the first soldier nodded and pushed aside the tent flap, saying “Go on in, she’s been expecting you,” Bethany felt all hope slipping away. She was too late. Someone else had gotten here first.

She entered to see the Commander, armor covered in mud and blood, facing off against a woman in soaked but still impossibly clean Chantry robes. The priest was a middle-aged woman with pale-gold hair and a very mean look, pointing a finger at the Commander and looking ready to deliver another tirade when she saw Bethany enter the tent. Her eyes went wide and she whirled on her with a vengeance.

“That’s the one, soldier! Arrest her at once!”

The Commander looked almost lazily over at Bethany and there was a long, terrible silence, broken only by shouting outside. Their eyes locked, the Commander’s sharp blues meeting Bethany’s dull ambers, a river crashing over rock and earth and wearing it away until there was nothing left. But she could not look away, and the Commander held her gaze for so long a moment that the world seemed to go still.

“No.”

Bethany stood paralyzed, watching dumbly as the Commander began marching right at her. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, that the sounds of fighting were coming from right behind her, and leap out of the way before she was run over.

The Chantry priest started after her, stunned. “How dare you?!”

But the Commander wasn’t listening. She reached the entrance to the tent, threw open the flaps, and Bethany saw Ser Aubrecht standing there, sword drawn and looking ready to swing at one of the guards. Both guards had drawn their swords in answer, though one was now struggling to rise from the ground. “Strike one of my soldiers again and I will have you staked to the ground and left for the Darkspawn! Drop your weapon and stand down! Now!”

Her voice was like the crash of thunder and Bethany felt herself almost moving to obey on instinct. Ser Aubrecht hesitated, slowly turning on her but keeping hold of his sword. “You dare threaten a Templar?”

“The Blight sends thousands of Darkspawn to kill us and you think I’m afraid of one washed-up mage hunter? Put your sword down. I will not tell you again.”

The soldier on the ground managed to regain her feet and find her weapon while the Templar stared the Commander down. Inside the tent, the Chantry priest had moved up beside Bethany but was now transfixed by what was happening in front of her. From the camp, the sound of shouting and running soldiers was growing louder. The Templar looked toward her and waited.

“This mage is an apostate,” the priest said in a voice tight with rage. “She used the chaos of the Darkspawn ambush to slay the Templar sent to guard her and try to escape into the night.”

“I’m aware of who she is,” the Commander said, not turning her back on the still-armed Templar. “From what I understand, half the people in this camp are alive because of her magic.”

Rain lashed the roof of the pavilion, wind rippled the walls, and not another sound was heard inside the tent. Bethany could have been knocked over by a stray fennec. The priest looked ready to explode. The Templar, hidden behind his mask of steel, still did not move to drop his sword. Soon, the golden light of the tent glinted off dozens of drawn blades and steel helmets emerging from the darkness.

At last, it was the priest who spoke. “That does not matter. She is an apostate, a maleficar, one who should be under Chantry control.”

“I’m afraid it matters a great deal.” The Commander said, turning to regard the woman but taking care not to turn her back on the Templar. “This apostate has saved more lives than anyone else in this army. If she is willing to help get these people to Redcliffe safely, that is all that matters to me. Whatever else she has done, she is welcome here.”

“It is not your place to stand between the Templars and a rogue mage!”

“But you have made it my place to stand between you and the Blight, and I will take anyone who stands with me. For as long as she is willing to fight the Darkspawn, I will not turn her over to you for summary execution. If you would like to change my mind, Mother Berenice, feel free to pick up a sword and start fighting at any time.” The Commander turned her gaze coldly on Ser Aubrecht. “Right now, you are either with us, or with the Darkspawn. Go back to your tent and think on that, boy. I’ve no desire to pollute this ground with another needless corpse.”

Mother Berenice stared wide-eyed and furious at the Commander, but it was the Templar who moved. He turned his head, slowly looking over the crowd of soldiers and their bloody swords before putting away his own. Wordlessly, he turned to stalk back into the night, and for a moment Bethany wondered if the soldiers would let him go. She should not have been surprised when they did. After all, the Commander had given her orders.

“We will have words on this,” Mother Berenice hissed as she moved to follow the Templar. “The Maker’s will shall be done.”

The Commander did not answer. She watched Berenice leave before stepping to the front of the tent and issuing a few quiet orders to the soldiers outside. Bethany was too shaken to even eavesdrop. It was probably best that she had a moment to herself, anyway, and while the Commander spoke to her people, Bethany attended to herself. She nearly broke down crying on the spot, falling to her knees and staring into the palms of her hands. However long it took her to compose herself, it took longer still for the soldiers outside to leave. The thought creeped in that some might side with the Templars and demand her head.

When the tent flaps again parted with a whisper, Bethany stood still as a statue and awaited whatever her fate would be. The Commander did not even acknowledge her presence as she passed, walking slowly to the far end of the tent. The silence stretched as she did and Bethany found that all she could do was wait. This was the last safe place in the world for her. Whatever happened next, she could not stop it.

When the Commander spoke, it was soft as the rain running down the walls of the tent. “Did you know the Darkspawn attacked the wagons tonight?”

Bethany remained still and silent, unsure of how to answer, until the woman turned to face her, arms folded and a tired sort of smile on her face. It was not what she had been expecting. “No. No, I didn’t.”

“That seems fair. I heard a bit of what you did tonight and it sounds like a few very crowded hours.” The Commander gestured vaguely toward the Highway. “They sent a few of their Emissaries to set the carts on fire and slow us down, make us leave some of our wounded behind. Thankfully, they weren’t able to do more than blacken the wood in all this rain. But you managed to not only start a fire in the middle of the storm, but one that made the Tower of Ishal look as dim as candlelight. For an apostate, you certainly know how to make an entrance.”

Bethany shuffled uncomfortably. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing? Was taking down an Ogre single handedly just something that happened regularly in Lothering? That monster took a lot of good people from us tonight. Fighting it all by yourself should have been certain death.”

She remembered it's horrible grin as it bared down on her. The ice that had blinded it had been crafted through instinct, nothing more, and by every right she should be lying dead in that field. Or subject to the horrors the demons had whispered to her, the ones they promised would come at the hands of the Darkspawn. Those thoughts still made her shiver. “I wasn’t alone. I had help.”

The Commander raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Is this the Templar I’ve been hearing about?”

“Yes.” Bethany knew she should have been saying more, but she still had no idea how to explain what happened. “The Darkspawn surrounded us. He didn’t make it.”

“An apostate and a Templar standing against the Blight. A shame there aren’t more like you.” The Commander straightened, facing her and taking a few steps closer. “I should thank you for all you did for us, and I don’t just mean tonight. What happened outside Lothering… I had hoped to speak with you about it after the battle, but you disappeared on the road. I didn’t even get a chance to ask your name.”

“It’s Bethany.”

“Thank you, Bethany. You can call me Tara, for however long we have the pleasure.”

Bethany found herself smiling in spite of everything. It wasn’t that she had forgotten Lothering - she would never forget that - but this woman had just saved her the Templars. She had only one person standing between her and a fate worse than death. It was nice to at least know her name.

“You would really do this?” Bethany asked carefully. “Protect an apostate from the Templars?”

“I would burn down the Denerim Chantry if it meant you would fight the Darkspawn with us.”

She said it so offhandedly that it struck Bethany like a slap in the face. Of course that would be her answer. Nothing mattered but the fact that she could kill Darkspawn.

She was just being stupid. No one would stand up to the Templars for an apostate they had just met, not unless the only other choice was death. She managed to keep her voice level as she replied. “I see.”

Tara seemed to notice and her expression softened just a bit. “I know it sounds harsh, but you saw what they did to Lothering. This isn’t a war, Bethany, it’s the end. What happened outside the village, when we burned the fields, that wasn’t something anyone wanted to do. It was what had to be done. The sad truth is we aren’t fighting Orlesians who want to rule over us for another century, we’re fighting monsters that want to drive us from the earth. This is a Blight, and every battlefield we leave behind, we leave knowing that those unable to walk away will never be seen again. When we lost at Ostagar, the ones who survived did so by running or by fighting their way here.”

Of course this was different, of course a Blight was worse, but Bethany had not been ready. It seemed no one had. Not for Ostagar, not for losing her brother, not for seeing sodden bodies floating between campfires.

“I am sorry for what I made you do, I am, but you must understand, that was the kind of choice we have been making since this began. Without you, the Darkspawn would have caught up to us and we would not have been ready. We needed the time you gave us. Without it, I feel certain there would not have been anyone left by sundown. We stayed at Lothering too long. That was my mistake. It was a hard decision, I know that, but it was the only one that kept us going.”

Bethany nodded leadenly. “I know.”

“Then you must know that, no matter how I feel about the Templars and their desire for you, it pales in comparison to the Blight. Nothing is more important. If this keeps you safe from them until we reach Redcliffe, then so much the better.”

She could not help but glance over at the map. “We’re going to Redcliffe?”

Tara followed her gaze and walked over to the makeshift stone table. “It’s the last safe place in this part of Ferelden. If Eamon truly does have his army marshalled outside the walls, we stand a chance at least until the true Horde catches up to us. If not…”

She trailed off, looking sorrowfully at the side of the tent and did not finish. Then again, she did not need to. “How long?”

“From Lothering, I would say a week, slowed as we are.” Tara again met her gaze and Bethany noticed for the first time the intense, steely blue of her eyes. “What I’m asking isn’t easy, Bethany, but I swear no Templar will harm you so long as you get us to the shores of Lake Calenhad. Will you do this for us?”

Bethany liked to think that, given a choice, she would have said yes regardless. As it was, there was no other choice, no other way to survive this nightmare. Whatever else happened, it was clear that she was now in service to this woman, whether she liked it or not. “What would you have me do?”

As though summoned, one of Tara’s guards poked their head through the tent. “Your pardon, ma’am, but Sergeant Eleisa is here.”

“Let her in.” Tara looked to Bethany and sighed. “Get some sleep. You’ll be safe here, at least, and out of the rain. There’s a bedroll in the corner, there. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. Maker knows I won’t be using it tonight.”

Bethany did as she was bid, settling down on the soft cloth and turning her face to the side of the tent. It felt strange and profoundly uncomfortable, trying to sleep while Tara exchanged words with this Sergeant Eleisa. They spoke of those lost in the battle for a time and Bethany could scarcely believe her ears. So many had died and from the sound of it they did not even know how many had gotten out of Lothering in the first place. It was hard even to know how many were still alive.

Bethany kept herself turned toward the canvas wall and so missed any looks that were cast in her direction. She heard Eleisa start to ask a question but Tara quickly cut her off, telling her to keep her mind on the Darkspawn. One crisis at a time, in her words, and Bethany found herself wishing for just that.

When Eleisa finally left, she was replaced by another soldier, then by an aged woman who came to speak for the refugees. Despite her terror and the way her body jumped at every armored footfall outside the canvas wall, exhaustion eventually overcame her.

She drifted off to a fitful, restless sleep, her spirit passing into the Fade, convinced at least that she would have a body to return to in the morning.


	5. Rybrook Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now wanted for the murder of a Templar, Bethany tries to get a feel for the woman who has placed herself between her neck and the Sword of Mercy, and Tara finds herself preoccupied with the evacuation of yet another village in the path of the Darkspawn Horde

“You keep her as a pet, now, is that it?”

Bethany woke with a start, jerking upright with a sharp gasp. Even through bleary eyes, it was easy to make out a Templar standing near the front of the tent, his helmet under one arm. Between him and Bethany stood Tara, hands at her hips. She was also facing Bethany but turned away before she could make out her expression.

“I _keep_ her for the same reason I keep you and yours, though she has proven more useful and more polite. If you’re jealous, join up with the rearguard. We’re sure to see more Emissaries today and I would love to see you Templars put on a show.”

“That apostate killed one of the Order, one of my brothers. You cannot think to stay the hand of justice.”

Bethany decided this was a conversation one best endured on her feet and slowly pushed herself up, her muscles aching as she did. Tara let out a sound of disgust, drawing the baleful stare of the Templar once more. “Justice is currently in line behind several thousand Darkspawn. If it wants to jump ahead, it will have to fight its way there.”

She pointed at the entrance of the tent and Bethany could swear the Templar actually flinched, though that may have been wishful thinking. He took a moment to glare at Bethany again. She did not recognize his face, which a small part of her was awake enough to feel miserable about. If they all believed she had killed Ser Bryant, there would be no safe place for her in the camp.

When the Templar refused to move, Tara took a step forward. “As long as you’re here, you follow my orders. You will move your ass to the eastern edge of the clearing and you plant it there until the rest of these people are on the Highway and safe. If you don’t like it, I invite you to take it up with the rest of your Order, wherever it is they are.”

The Templar actually managed to look even angrier, staring Tara down for a long moment before storming out of the tent, slamming his helmet down over his head as he left.

Tara sighed and turned back to Bethany. She looked completely exhausted but managed a tight smile all the same. “Rise and shine. Your friends haven't stopped talking about you.”

Bethany hardly knew what to say to that. She nodded, adjusting her clothes and the more unruly bits of her hair behind her ears. How she had managed to fall asleep in the middle of this woman’s tent was beyond her. Then again, it had been a singularly exhausting day. “Was that the first time they came back?”

“Not the first,” Tara said wearily. “Just the loudest. Mother Berenice returned for a while but didn’t stay long. She lost a lot of her flock last night, it seems, just like everyone else. We won’t even be done sorting the dead from the living for certain until we get to Redcliffe.”

“Was it truly so bad?”

“Last night? Not the worst we’ve had, but it certainly wasn’t the best, either. I still don’t know how many of us walked away from Ostagar, and the survivors seem to melt away a little more each morning.” Tara closed her eyes and shook her head in misery. “It’s a grim business, even if some don’t have the sense to realize it. With any luck, the Darkspawn will at least remove a headache the next time they take someone from us.”

The words were utterly insane, from where Bethany was standing. This was the Chantry she was talking about. The Templars could execute her just for sheltering an apostate. What they would do to someone who defied them so openly, even going so far as to strike one in defense of a mage, she was not brave enough to guess.

But had she not seen the Blight for herself just last night, witnessed the Ogre that had killed so many tear its way through the darkness? Surely they would understand the circumstances.

“But they still believe you killed one of their own,” Tara continued. “And despite several thousand other, more pressing problems, they seem determined to take it out on someone less threatening than the entire Horde. No offense.”

Should she be offended? It took her a moment to register the stilted smile as the palest shadow of a jest. Maker, she could have used another few days of sleep.

“Thank you,” she managed. Tara raised her eyebrows in confusion. “For not turning me in.”

Tara sniffed and the edge of her lips quirked but that was all she managed. “See if you’re still thanking me when you’re trading fireballs with the Darkspawn. You might not be as much of a pain as the Templars, but I can’t afford to play favorites. The Darkspawn will want to keep us here as long as they can, so you can bet that you’ll be neck-deep in them before the morning is out.”

Bethany tried a smile of her own. “Can’t wait.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Someone pushed their way into the tent and began speaking to Tara, giving Bethany a few moments to gather her things and try to get her head on straight. She was safe, for the moment, as long as she stayed in Tara’s good graces. That seemed to be the only thing keeping her head attached to her shoulders. But she still needed to find her family. Marian could take care of herself just fine, but Mother needed help. She had just lost Carver and now she was alone. What would she do if she heard Bethany was being hunted by the Templars?

She could hardly help but to eavesdrop in such a small space. Darkspawn had been sighted, already eager to begin the day’s bloodletting. More and more were coming up from the Wilds, though few had been seen to the west. They had thrown everything they had into the battle last night. Until another arm of the true Horde caught up, they would only be dealing with small skirmishes.

If Tara looked relieved, she did not show it. She merely nodded and got Bethany’s attention before sending the soldier off. “Tell First Company to push up the Highway. We have to get there before the Darkspawn do.”

Realizing she had missed something, Bethany waited until the soldier saluted and departed to ask the obvious question. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a town a few hours from here. Rybrook Hill. Do you know it?” She had never heard the name before, but there were dozens of smaller villages outside Lothering. When she shook her head, Tara shrugged and began moving to follow the soldier outside. “Well, you’ll likely see it burning soon enough. Apparently they’ve got quite a Chantry, but out here in the Wilds, I suppose that could mean anything.”

Tara gestured when she reached the tent flap and Bethany obeyed, following her out into the morning sun. “Do you think the… Darkspawn…”

She trailed off as those first rays of dawn revealed what darkness had hidden the night before. The water had not fully drained from the field, leaving refugees and soldiers alike clinging to bits of dry land as best they could. Most were doing their best to move toward the Highway, though traffic around the ramp had already become so intense that most were just standing still and waiting for someone up front to move. Soldiers stood near the treeline, helmets glinting in the sun, and waited for the Darkspawn to try and kill them.

But it was the bodies that stopped Bethany in her tracks. Never in her life had she seen so much death. There were hundreds of them in every conceivable position - sprawled in the grass, floating in the water, nailed to the trees, burned down to charcoal, and blown apart by magic. The sight was nearly enough to make her sick.

The smell proved more than enough. Bethany felt her stomach roil and seize. Her knees buckled and she fell on all fours, coughing and retching until she was empty. How had she not smelled it until now?

From behind her, Tara made a noise of disgust. “Yes, a true slayer of men. The Templars are right to fear her wrath.”

The comment would have reddened her cheeks if the blood had not already drained from her face. She felt as though she might pass out.

“Looks can be deceiving,” another voice said, and she realized that the comment, barbed as it was, had not been meant for her. It was a woman’s voice and she had to imagine this was Mother Berenice. After their encounter the night before, she was not sure she minded sitting this one out. “She could have taken a demon in already. How else do you explain the fires that she could conjure, the way she survived an Ogre, the death of Ser Bryant, a well-trained Templar? He should have been more than capable of subduing an apostate on his own.”

“She did not survive an Ogre, my dear Mother, she destroyed it, and that single act has saved more lives than I care to count. It seems this apostate could give your Circle mages a run for their money. As for your Templar, a cursory glance at the body shows he died by being crushed. The worst you can accuse this woman of is not saving him from the Blight.”

“I doubt she even tried.”

Bethany swallowed down whatever was left of her insides and tried to catch her breath. She had tried. Hadn’t she? He was a Templar. Maybe she had let him cut her off from the Fade just so the Ogre would kill him.

“I’ve heard enough,” Tara snapped, then barked an order for her people to begin packing the command tent away. “Go and find someone else to suffer you. Better yet, make yourself useful and calm some of these poor souls. The Darkspawn have enough dead to feast on. The living shouldn’t be made to join them.”

As the Revered Mother stormed off, the swish of her Chantry robes fading down the hill, Bethany noticed another sound rising above the din. The keening of dozens, maybe hundreds of broken souls rose from the flooded plain. Wives knelt over husbands, husbands over wives, parents over children, children over parents. Now that she had heard it, just as with the smell of the dead, the sound of the living threatened to undo her.

A hand grabbed her beneath the shoulder and hoisted her to her feet, steadying her while her legs remembered how to stand. Tara gave her a squeeze. “Here, drink this. You alright?”

Bethany could only shake her head as something was pressed into her hand. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Tara cursed softly. “Forgot this was your first time. I should have, well, I don’t know what I would have said to warn you, honestly. You don’t ever really get used to it. I’m sorry.”

Even as she tried to avert her gaze, she knew there was nowhere for her to look that would save her from the carnage. Another nudge prompted her to bring her hand, now clutching a canteen, to her lips and take a drink, coughing as her throat remembered things went down as well as up.

“Thank you.” She tried passing the canteen back, only to have Tara push it away again.

“That’s yours, now,” she said with a wry grin. “I’ll find another. Drink the rest. Make sure you’ve got something in your stomach before things get exciting again.”

There was sense in that, and Bethany reluctantly did her best to drain the canteen. She found herself looking up at the sky between sips, breathing slowly, then focusing on the Highway and the masses of humanity clogging it.

“Is it always like this?” Bethany asked, catching sight of a Chantry sister consoling a small child clinging desperately to one of the bodies. “Every night?”

“Not every night.” Tara’s voice sounded like gravel scratched across stone. “But there have been worse, and believe me when I say last tonight could have been much, much worse.”

She followed Tara’s finger as she pointed to a black mound already covered in crows. The Ogre. Maker, even from here it looked massive.

“If that thing had kept going, there would be a lot more bodies out there and a lot fewer of us left to cry over them. Don’t lose sight of that.” Tara gave her a nudge on the shoulder, bringing her around until she once again faced the refugees on the Highway. “They can’t fight an Ogre. You can. You can get them to Redcliffe. It’s not fair, and it’s more than anyone should have on their shoulders, but there it is.”

Tara gave her a push and began moving toward the Highway. After a moment, Bethany found herself following, and not just to be away from all the bodies.

“I wish I could say it gets easier, but at least you might not be sick next time.” Tara gave her a very tired, very sincere smile. “What do you think, Bethany? Can you do this seven more times?”

“You ask like I have a choice.” Truth be told, she had no idea if she could do this even one more time. She had no idea if she was still here or already broken and waiting to fall to pieces.

“There’s always a choice. Right now, it’s standing up rather than staying on your knees, and before the day is done, it will be fighting instead of lying down to die.”

No sooner had Tara finished speaking than horns echoed from the Highway and cries of alarm echoed from the edges of the forest. Tara cursed and broke into a jog, hurrying toward the growing sound of clashing steel.

And Bethany followed. Against all her instincts, she followed, empty canteen bouncing against her hip.

Rybrook Hill was not burning when they arrived, though there was no doubt in Bethany’s mind that she was seeing it on its last day. There was no way a place this small could survive against what was coming. With no walls, one well, and more space in its orchards than in the town itself, the little town was almost too small for a Chantry. But, of course, there was a Chantry, and even an apostate on the run found it hard to marvel at the magnificent architecture.

Carved into a ridge of red rock that split the town in two and towered easily one hundred feet above the lower square, the tallest spire looked to rise half that again above the top of the ridge, while the doors to get in were set all the way at the bottom. Looking at it from below, Bethany felt vaguely dizzy. If it was meant to instill a sense of smallness, it was doing a marvelous job.

Unlike the Chantry in Lothering there was not one main door here, but two. Men and women were to enter for sermons through separate doors, with each a craving above each portal denoting which was which. Bethany followed the Commander through the women’s door and read across the top _'Those Fairest in the Maker’s Eyes, Call Out in Joy and Song.’_ Across the men’s was scrawled the less-complimentary _‘Those Burdened with the Sin, Call Out for Forgiveness and Strength.’_

Many were calling out, though there was little joy, song, or strength in any of their voices. Only constant pleas of forgiveness, as though the Maker would turn the Darkspawn to mist if they apologized hard enough. Those voices grew louder as the two of them entered the Chantry proper and again despite her feelings, she marvelled at what she both heard and saw. The sounds, of course, were monstrous, with terrified families begging equally-terrified Templars for deliverance. The Templars took their pleas and , in turn, begged the entire army to cram themselves into the building and fight the Darkspawn Horde in a last stand to rival the ancient Dwarves.

But the way it echoed, the way the sound enveloped her, surrounded her, and entered her chest like a hand grasping for her heart, made her wish she had been here during the days of peace. Some voices still recited the Chant of Light, but they could barely be heard over the larger panic. It was not the same. Even in those holy words, there remained no joy or song. Maker, what she would have given to have been here just yesterday.

The main atrium was similar to that of the Lothering Chantry, with a vast red carpet down the center and, on each side, arching columns of stone that hid little alcoves alight with candles. That was where the similarities ended. The stone here was tinged pink and unnaturally polished, riven with striations echoing that of the ridgeline’s natural stone. Lines of grey and pink and even fiery red intertwined in the pillars, though the floor was a more natural slate grey.

Tara was already walking toward the center of the Chantry but Bethany, hesitating just behind, noticed a stairwell to her left and decided to climb. The second floor proved a vast indoor balcony lined with pews and even more candles. More importantly, it gave her a clear, unimpeded view of what all those streaks of red in the stone were meant to symbolize. High overhead, formed of colored stones that mixed like paint, was a colossal, blood-red sun, its rays stretching outward in all directions to snake toward the floor in the strange, intricate patterns she had seen below.

Again, she longed for a bit of peace. It was all so beautiful. The way the light poured in from the stained glass etched with images of Andraste on her pyre, the depictions of the Golden City alongside its blackened remains, the way the rays reached the floor in mysterious, unknowable ways that could only be understood after ascending to see the greater picture, all of it proved almost overwhelming.

What a difference a single day made. On the floor below, Tara was speaking with the Templars and Chantry priests, all of whom looked to be barely containing their fear. They were probably being given the same talk that had been given in Lothering. A few days ago, all their lives had changed forever with the death of King Cailan and the coming of a new Blight. Rybrook Hill had died with the king, it had just taken a while for that news to arrive.

Finding herself alone for the first time since all this began, Bethany stared down at the crowded floor and let her shoulders sag. Everything in Lothering was gone. Her home, her brother, her pillow and soft blankets, none of it would ever come back. Gone too were the quiet evenings in the Chantry gardens, listening to Leliana share her stories. Even her worrying over the Templars finding her had burned away. Now they knew exactly where she was and, were it not for Tara and Leliana, they would have already killed her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The familiar lilt of Leliana’s voice came as though summoned by her memories and she turned to find the Chantry sister leaning against the banister a few steps away. “Leliana! You’re alive!”

Her robes had been ripped even more than Bethany remembered and she now wore a leather jerkin upholstered with bits of metal over the top of her traditional garb, but she was alive. Alive and laughing. “Yes, though not without a few scratches. But those are part of the best tales, no? How many we have, and how we get them, define us. Standing against the Blight is a fine way to earn a scar or two.”

Bethany could hardly argue, though she would never forgive herself if some of those were earned in keeping an apostate safe. “What happened after I left?”

“Well, after you disappeared, things got a little heated,” Leliana said in her customary nonchalance. “I was able to convince most of my brothers and sisters of what happened, as well as many of the Templars. With all that happened, and the stories of you slaying the Ogre alone, they are happy to believe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Better to have an apostate fighting heroically beside them than waiting to break their minds like old clay pots.”

Of course she would make it sound like another of her tales. Bethany let herself feel the smallest relief at that. “You must have told them quite the story.”

“I have a weakness for them, as you know. You were always such a good listener. Don’t think I did not notice.” The way she smiled, so giddy and conspiratorial, made Bethany feel like a little girl again, stealing sweets from window sills and eating them behind the woodshed. “Speaking of stories, I have seen you in the company of the Commander. She took you in, then?”

Bethany nodded, looking down to find Tara still speaking to the local priests, though the crowd had now begun moving toward the main doors. Despite the Darkspawn, they still seemed determined to use the properly-gendered door. “Yes.”

“That is good to hear.” Leliana was quiet for a moment, surely reading into the shortness of Bethany’s answer. “Has she asked you to do anything for her? Such protection surely comes at a price.”

Again, Bethany nodded. “She wants me to fight.”

Still looking down at the huddled masses, she missed whatever look Leliana gave her. When the sister spoke, however, she sounded almost relieved. “I think that would be happening whether she asked you to do it or not, unless she had some way of flying us all away from here. Perhaps she is a dragon, hm? Her own soldiers claim she fell from the heavens at Ostagar. I must say, it makes for quite the tale.”

“Fell from the heavens?” That grabbed her attention.

“A few insist they saw her descending from above, but I do not think that is what really happened, as comforting as that would be. But if she is a dragon, I would ask that you put in a good word for me, hm? I have always wanted to know what it is like to fly.” Leliana seemed to lose herself for a moment in the fantasy of riding a great, winged Tara through the sky. She snapped out of it quickly but it had at least given Bethany something to smile about. “Well, whether she can breathe fire or not, no one seems to know where she came from. Standing on a hill above the battle, she held her sword aloft and bid the army hold. It was enough to save their lives and steel their hearts, keeping them together until they could safely flee the field.”

Bethany looked down again at the Commander, who was now standing alone in the center of the aisle. The Chantry priests were making their way toward the doors along with everyone else. The Templars had gone, too, and the main hall now nearly stood empty. She noticed the two watching her from above and raised an eyebrow to ask what they were doing just standing around. Leliana waved cheerfully in response. It drew a smile from Tara, proving that no one could resist the lay sister’s charms.

Bethany waited until she had gone off toward the entrance, suddenly wondering how far her voice carried in such a space. “That’s incredible.”

“It is, and whatever truly happened on the battlefield, it is inspiring to hear such a tale.” Leliana looked over her shoulder, eyeing the stairwell before leaning closer to Bethany and speaking softly. “Of course, that is not all that I have heard. For all who say she fell from the heavens, there are those who crawled out from beneath the dead. I do not believe these ones. I want to believe she is a good woman and that she will keep you safe from those who hunt you.”

Bethany turned back toward the stairs where she could hear Tara’s footsteps echoing. Leliana glanced that way, too, hesitating for a moment before giving her one last warning.

“To stand against the Blight as she does, alone against it all, is a difficult task - perhaps an impossible one. Be careful of her, Bethany. Such strain can break the strongest will.”

Bethany turned just in time to see Tara surmounting the last stair, her attention on the massive sun in the ceiling rather than the two women. Leliana gave her a last look and a reassuring smile before turning away.

Tara let out a low whistle that echoed all around them. “Maker. Who built this place?”

“A strange tale, that one. The stories say it was a Magister inspired by the sacrifice of Andraste.” Of course Leliana knew the answer. It was a story, after all. “They say his desire was to make a grand temple to his new faith to curry favor with the Maker and atone for the sins of his people.”

“All the way out here?”

Bethany had to chuckle at that. She had a point. Leliana just nodded. “Indeed. Had he done this in the heart of the Imperium, it would no doubt have been torn down in a matter of hours. But out here, he knew it would stand, even if the Wilds overtook it and it was lost to time.”

Tara gave Bethany a look before taking another look at the walls and windows. It really was a beautiful tribute, just not enough to stop the Blight. Then again, more than one Magister had walked the streets of the Golden City. Perhaps with a few more places like this, he would see sense and show a bit of mercy to his children.

“Where is it that you hear these stories, anyway?” Tara asked after a moment.

Leliana smiled coyly. “That would be telling, but such stories are meant to be told. Perhaps they find me on their own.”

With a roll of her eyes that almost looked good-natured, Tara looked toward Bethany again. “We’ve too many things already that find us on their own, and I’d rather our story continue beyond this afternoon.”

The burden of the Blight, of running for her life and not knowing whether her family was alive or dead, suddenly came crashing back down on her shoulders. She had not even noticed the burden lifting until it returned, settling back into place like it belonged there.

She did not need to ask what had happened, only where. “Where are they?”

“Damn-near everywhere, but the worst are coming up from the Wilds, just south of the Highway. We already went through this at Lothering. I don’t intend to overstay our welcome a second time.”

No, she did not want to do that again. Bethany pushed herself away from the railing and moved to follow Tara.

Leliana did the same. “Commander?”

“Yes?”

“I believe our friend here was from Lothering. She had family, did she not?”

Bethany felt her face turn red even as her heart leaped into her throat. Hadn’t she just finished telling her to be careful around this woman? Tara nodded absently, then halted as the meaning struck her. “Maker’s breath, I didn’t even consider that. Of course, yes, I can have someone look for them. Your sister, at least, I know still lives. I saw her just this morning outside the city. She’s been serving with Aveline and will be guarding our advance. Their patrols will keep them too far from us during the march but I can recall her for the night, if you’d like.”

Now her heart tried to climb out of her mouth and do a jig on the floor. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

At least she had managed to get something out. Leliana looked entirely too pleased with herself and Bethany found herself thanking her, too. For her part, Tara’s face was a mask of exhaustion and embarrassment. It was almost unrecognizable compared to the Commander Bethany had grown accustomed to seeing. If nothing else, it reassured Bethany that she would at least be safe in her company, even if she had just been warned to take care around her.

“I apologize for not thinking of it sooner. I’m not sure about your mother, but I promise I’ll have someone look into it tonight. Do the Templars know your name? Do they -”

Something slammed into the front of the Chantry, shattering glass and knocking several candles from their alcoves. Leliana and Tara both caught themselves at the bottom of the stairs with ease but Bethany pitched face-first down the last few steps, landing badly on her hip and nearly taking Leliana to the ground with her.

Tara swore. “Never a dull moment. Sister, you may want to return to the column. Maker knows someone there could use a calming voice.”

“Of course. Stay safe, Bethany. Commander.” Leliana gave Bethany a warm smile and darted through the door like an orange blur.

Bethany had hardly regained her feet when another explosion rocked the Chantry. More windows shattered but this time Tara caught her arm and lifted her up before she could fall again. “Come on, then. No lying down on the job for you.”

Pulled by the wrist, Bethany staggered out through the women’s door behind Tara just in time to watch another ball of fire arc overhead. It seemed to hang in the air for a moment, impossibly light at its zenith, before falling with a terrible, fatidic whoosh. She was too slow to even try stopping it this time, assuming she even could. The fireball crashed barely twenty feet overhead, the impact pushing them forward out of the Chantry and showering them in red stone chips that had once been intricate frescos.

The village square was in chaos, but Bethany was surprised to see everyone involved was wearing armor. The last of the villagers were already pelting west toward the Highway as fast as their legs could carry them. All that remained to the east were soldiers and Darkspawn. Sister Leliana was also to the east, but Bethany was beginning to take that in stride. She had found herself a longbow and a quiver and was only now beginning to make her way west with the other refugees. The way she carried herself, somehow Bethany knew that no matter what the Darkspawn threw at them, she would be seeing her again.

With Tara bellowing orders to those still in the village, Bethany pulled the staff from her back and went to work. The next fireball that arced toward the Chantry detonated overhead without harming the facade or sending more rubble falling into the street. She busied herself like this, content to annoy the Darkspawn that would soon be trying to kill and eat her, until Tara punched her in the shoulder and began making her way into the streets.

Her lungs must have been strong as a blacksmith’s bellows for she never seemed to run out of breath, constantly shouting to her soldiers. “Fall back! To the Highway! Stay together!”

Now that she was unable to protect the Chantry, fire quickly scorched much of the facade, leaving Bethany profoundly sad and forcing her to turn away from the sight. She turned her attention instead to Tara, overhearing a conversation between her and a wounded soldier. “They broke through to the east, ma’am. We tried to pull back but there were too many. They’ve been picking us off trying to get away.”

Tara cursed and gave the man a shove. “You did well. Get your people back to the Highway. Hurry. We’ll be right behind you.”

As the last of the soldiers rushed by, Bethany realized, in looking to the east, that the next figures they would see would almost certainly be Darkspawn. Tara was also looking off toward the Wilds, muttering to herself as she did.

“Shouldn’t we be going with them?” Bethany asked, not wanting to stay here a moment longer.

“We had more scouts bringing up the rear,” Tara said even as she began to make her way west, following the running soldiers. “If they’re still out there, I don’t want them coming to town looking for us.”

In the distance, black shapes began loping over the hills. Bethany felt her heart begin to pound and her mouth go dry as she saw them.

Tara saw them, too. “We’ll swing around to the north, guide anyone out here back to the Highway with us. Come on.”

She did not need to be asked twice. Rybrook Hill was so small that they ran full-pelt from the edge up town, up the ridgeline until they were above the Chantry, and into the Orchards without stopping. She would have liked to stop to admire the view but more Darkspawn fireballs persuaded her that it would still be there after the Blight. On their way, they only passed perhaps a dozen houses and all of them were blessedly empty, their doors ajar and clothes left on the line. Whatever Tara had said to them in the Chantry seemed to have worked.

Through the apple trees they ran, listening to the steady boom, boom, boom of fireballs raining on the little village. At the edge, Bethany suddenly realized how far away the Highway actually was. The nearest ramp was easily almost half a mile away and for the second time in as many days she found herself asking “Why did we wait so long?”

“You were the one admiring the view!” Tara answered, puffing from the mad dash out of town.

Bethany would have laughed, had she the air in her lungs. And they still had so far to go. “Blame Leliana. Wherever she is.”

Tara didn’t reply, instead stopping long enough to squint at a group of soldiers fleeing toward the Highway. “There!”

Above them, more tiny shapes ran along the span. It did not take much to search out what they were running from. Darkspawn already spilled from the surrounding woods, lunging toward Rybrook in seething masses like ants swarming over food.

But not all of them were after the town. Small groups pursued the soldiers in the fields with terrifying speed, though most seemed far enough ahead to make it to the Highway on their own. A tension left her shoulders that she had been building all this time. She had expected to see another Lothering, where she burned fleeing families alive to save them from the Darkspawn.

Thank the Maker for small miracles. Bethany looked behind them, expecting to see Darkspawn hot on their heels. “Looks like they know the way well enough. Can we leave yet?”

“That’s the idea.” The sound of Tara’s blade rasping free of its sheath brought Bethany whipping around, staff now clutched in both hands. “Hope you’re ready to fight your way back.”

The Darkspawn seemed just as surprised as they were, laughing and pointing in ecstatic surprise at the two women caught out on their own. There were six of them, all of them the tall, human-like ones carrying heavy, jagged blades. One was covered in metal armor, all spikes and jagged edges with massive horns sticking from its helmet. In its hand was an impossibly thick longbow she had at first mistaken for a staff.

That one pointed at Bethany and, still laughing, set an arrow against the string. The others all charged forward, their attention focused on Tara. Some glanced at Bethany to howl and jabber at her but strangely none came toward her. As Tara brought her sword up across her chest, the one at the top of the hill drew the arrow back and took aim. Bethany waited for the shot, readying a ward to snap the arrow to pieces, but realized in belated horror that the point had moved to Tara.

She called fire from the air with reckless fury and hurled it like a stone at the charging Darkspawn, but it was not fast enough. The bowstring twanged and the arrow shot toward Tara faster than Bethany could blink. Tara’s scream of pain was drowned out by Bethany’s fireball as it exploded, engulfing the small hill in flames. She did not wait to see how many it felled.

“Tara!”

Staggering to one side, Tara caught herself, one arm wiping the side of her face where a red gash had opened beneath her eye. Still alive. Bethany felt tides of relief crashing against rocks that remembered Lothering and the apostate in her demanded she finish the job once the Darkspawn threat had passed. She was still getting used to knowing Tara as her savior.

Tara, for her part, answered by swearing violently enough to turn Bethany bright red. “Nice throw,” she said when she finally refined her language. “Keep doing that, would you?”

Two of the Darkspawn emerged from the fireball with vicious burns but still on their feet, while one managed to crawl its way down the hill. It had lost one of its legs and the other was burnt to a crisp but it still wanted to fight. The last one, the largest, tossed its burning bow to the ground but otherwise looked more angry than injured.

“I’ll do my best,” Bethany managed, unconvincing to her own ears. She might have been an apostate, but she would never be a maleficar. Tara had shown her mercy, kindness. She would not repay that with coldblooded betrayal.

The two Darkspawn continued their charge toward Tara, swords raised and running faster than they had any right to. She did not wait to see what the last one was doing. Before she could call up the energy for another spell, the two creatures reached Tara and began slashing viciously. Like everything they did, the blows came faster than they should have, the creatures throwing all their weight and unnatural rage behind each one.

But as fast as they were, Tara was faster, and it took only a moment for Bethany to realize that the arrow had not missed, Tara had dodged it. Unlike Marian, her sword did not clash with the Darkspawn’s. Instead, it hung loose to one side, only flicking slightly to push the Darkspawn blades aside, like water parting around a rock.

The first blow came down on what should have been her shoulder but instead met empty air before scraping against the flat of Tara’s blade. Seeming to glide over the grass, Tara moved around the creature, dragging her sword behind her until she could bring it up in one swift thrust that slid beneath the creature’s arm. Her movement carried her well beyond the wild swing of the second Darkspawn and left it staggering forward as it tried to catch up.

It swung twice more, Tara’s sword meeting it each time, before Bethany realized she should have been helping. In the span of a breath that misted and froze before her, she turned the air around the Darkspawn to ice. Frost had hardly started clinging to its skin before Tara took her chance and stabbed the creature through the throat.

Even that, barely more than a cantrip, drew attention from the Fade, and the demon’s began to whisper terrible things in her ears. Tara could not be trusted. She was not human, but a monster more deadly than the Darkspawn. If she did not kill her here and now, a fate worse than the Templars and Tranquility awaited her at the end.

She had barely shaken the whispers from her mind when she noticed the larger Darkspawn charging down the hill, a massive greatsword of jagged black metal clutched in its hands. Tara had hardly moved away from the frozen Darkspawn when it reached her, taking her by surprise. Bethany screamed again, seeing the sword come at her chest in a sweeping, sideways arc that should have split her in half at the waist.

But when Tara fell, it was in one piece, not two. She did not duck beneath the blade but collapsed, impossibly quick to avoid the sword that sang above her head. The Darkspawn tried to stop but lost its balance, sliding on the grass and nearly going down to one knee. When it managed to catch itself, it was a short few steps from where Bethany now stood, and for one terrible moment, its eyes locked with hers. She could hear its breath rasping in its helmet, and what echoed inside was not laughter but growling, snarling rage. There was so little magic left in her, now. If it came for her, she could meet it with little more than a shower of sparks.

Then it turned its back, raised its blade, and stalked toward Tara. She had just managed to right herself and was rushing toward the creature, having just enough time to change direction when it turned back to face her. The greatsword arced overhead, slamming into the ground where Tara had been standing a moment before. Tara’s own sword remained at her side as she tensed, readying herself for the next blow.

As the Darkspawn swung again, another wide sweep that should have cut Tara in half, its leg suddenly sank into the ground, throwing off its balance and twisting it around so badly it nearly dropped its sword. Bethany was almost as surprised as the creature. She had never tried anything like that before, and in her exhausted state, her greatest ambition had been to make it stumble.

Tara reacted instantly, lunging forward and taking aim at where the helmet met the rest of its armor. There was a sickening, wet noise from beneath the metal plates, and when Tara pulled her blade free, the monster fell to the side, dead, its leg still wrenched and held beneath three feet of solid earth.

She turned to Bethany, blood still running down her cheek from where the arrow had struck her. “Fine work.”

Bethany looked around at the corpses and wrestled against the sudden, lightheaded exhaustion that threatened to tip her over. “Thank you.”

Her stomach gurgled and she swallowed hard. She was supposed to be getting used to this, wasn’t she? After fighting Darkspawn outside Lothering and again last night, she should have been able to see them die without wanting to throw up. If she had steeled herself at all to the sight of it, she had yet to overcome the smell.

Tara’s hand came to rest firmly on her shoulder. She had not even noticed her moving. “Hold it together, okay? You’re doing great. We’re almost done here. Just a little more running.”

“Running. Great. More running.” Bethany felt something shift in her stomach and was grateful when a burp was all she had to stifle. “That was - how did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You moved so fast.” Bethany waved her hands toward the dead Darkspawn and immediately regretted looking that way again. The one missing its legs was still crawling toward them.

Tara seemed to laugh quietly, though there was little humor in the sound. “Enough people try hitting you and you get pretty good at getting out of the way.”

Apparently thinking that was enough of an explanation, Tara turned her attention back to the hills, walking the short distance to the blackened rise that had once held the Darkspawn. She only paused to pick up one of the Darkspawn blades, turn it over in her hand, and pin the remaining Darkspawn to the dirt, hardly even breaking stride as she did.

“Come on, Bethany,” she said, sheathing her sword and turning back to face her. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way if I have to, but we are making it to that Highway, and we are doing it together. Do you understand?”

Bethany allowed herself a sharp laugh at the mental image. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Tara began jogging off, slowing up briefly for Bethany to close the short distance between them. Bethany followed just behind and wondered at what Leliana had said. Falling out of the sky to save the army at Ostagar did not seem so impossible after seeing that, and she had acted like this was nothing. This was someone who had stood up to the Templars for her and, were that not enough, had promised to bring her family back after Leliana had mentioned it a single time. It was so hard to reconcile with the murderer she had seen outside of Lothering, the one who had left her people to die by the roadside because they slowed her down.

But there was no breath to spare for questions. After what felt like days, they arrived at the edge of the Highway, winded but alive. Bethany leaned against the stone and caught her breath while Tara, who never seemed to tire, shouted orders and kept her people moving.

When Bethany finally got her feet back under her, she returned to Tara’s side, intent on taking a better measure of the woman now responsible for keeping her alive. Tara had other ideas, and promptly swatted away Bethany’s timid attempts to heal the wound in her cheek. “I’ll get it seen to when we stop, worry about the ones who can’t walk.”

Properly chastened, Bethany found herself tending to those still lagging behind the column either from injury or terror. From the high vantage of the Highway, she could see the village of Rybrook burning, an almost pathetically small column of black smoke rising to frame the Chantry spire. The Darkspawn were already swarming around the orchards, searching for survivors. She found herself watching the little grey shapes as they scurried between the trees and around the ridgeline. This was not the horde that had burned her home to the ground, and she took at least some small comfort in that. She even dared to hope that the coming night might not be as bad as the last. She couldn’t see any Ogres out there, at least.

But as the last soldiers arrived, Tara was again shouting for everyone to get moving and Bethany found she had no desire to stay and count the Darkspawn.

She stood and began to walk with the rest of the soldiers, most of whom were moving at a steady jog and outpaced Tara as she remained behind to make sure everyone got out safe. Bethany found herself wanting to join the others and put as much distance between herself and the village as possible. As the soldiers moved away, leaving fewer and fewer at the back of the column, things grew strangely quiet, the only sounds the heavy breathing of winded runners and the distant sounds of the Blight behind them.

It was in this silence that Bethany heard the first screams. Tara heard them, too, and together they moved to the northern edge of the Highway.

Bethany’s breath caught. No more than a half mile from the Highway were dozens of refugees, running straight north toward Lake Calenhad and inland Ferelden. They were making a line directly away from the army and into open country, with nowhere to hide and no one to protect them. It was the same path Bethany and her family might have taken the night before, had she found them in the darkness, and daylight revealed how suicidal that would have been.

Behind them were the Darkspawn, much closer to the Highway than the refugees but already moving in on easy prey. The refugees had noticed and had broken into a run, but there was never any doubt as to how it would end.

“They’ll never make it.” Bethany had not meant to say it out loud but it was the truth.

Tara made a guttural noise of agreement. “Poor bastards.”

Staff clutched firmly in one hand, Bethany had been looking back to the closest ramp when she noticed Tara start to walk away, moving west with the rest of the army. “Where are you going?”

“With the ones we can still help,” Tara said, stopping and turning back toward Bethany, her face a mask of pity. “We can’t save them, Bethany.”

“We have to try! We can’t just leave them!”

“We didn’t leave them, Bethany.” Tara’s voice was still sympathetic and soft even as a bit of steel crept in. “To leave them would have meant never coming here, never stopping to warn them and letting the Darkspawn burn them in their homes. Leaving them would have gotten us that much closer to Redcliffe and probably spared us another night of ambushes. No one here left them.”

Bethany looked frantically between her and the Darkspawn. They were spread out, in groups of a size the two of them could easily handle. They just had to be fast. “We can stop them.”

“No.”

“We can! If you won’t come with me, then let me go alone! I -”

“If you leave, you will die,” Tara snapped. “You will die and those people will die and it will all have been for nothing. The Darkspawn are here, Bethany. Even if you reach those people, they will not let you leave. It’s too late for them.”

The words left her frozen, dumbfounded, but she should not have been surprised. This was just what she had done the day before, just the kind of decision she claimed was necessary to survive. In seeing Tara’s eyes up close, glittering in the sunlight like a thousand arrows falling from the sky, she wondered if there was anything human left in there at all.

“Maybe there was something we could have done to save them, but if there was, the time for it has long since passed. They’re dead, Bethany. They’re dead, but you are not, and there are still living people who need you. Your family still lives. They will need you.”

Tara stepped up to her, jaw set and eyes as cold as steel, unflinching even as the screams grew more frantic from the fields. “Those are my orders, Bethany. This is my decision. Now, fall in and move out.”


	6. Priests, Plots, and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tara calls a halt for the night and is approached by Mother Berenice. Bethany tries to help around the camp while waiting to be reunited with her family.

Tara watched a few camp followers - that had been their title before Ostagar, at least - set up her tent near the edge of the Highway for their first night outside Rybrook. Only six more until Redcliffe. Maker, it felt like they had been doing this for months.

She had called the halt just before dusk as she always did, giving her people time to dig in for the inevitable Darkspawn attacks. It also gave them time to eat, drink, and catch an hour or two of sleep if they could manage it, all the necessary things in life that the Darkspawn could do without. At least, she assumed they could. She had never seen a Darkspawn sleep or relieve itself in a ditch outside camp. As for eating and drinking, their preferences were known all too well. But there were so damned many. What did they eat when there wasn’t a Blight? What could they possibly be eating underground, day in and day out?

Her musings about the Darkspawn diet were cut short by complaints, something this short rest between fleeing and fighting also allowed for. The first person in line tonight was none other than the elderly human woman who seemed to speak for Lothering’s refugees. Not a bad start, but she knew her Holiness and her righteous minions would not be far behind.

At least Bethany was staying close. The girl was currently enjoying a tiny spot of shade behind a rock, slumped over in exhaustion. Good. At least there, the Templars couldn’t snatch her without Tara raising a fuss about it first.

“Commander,” the Elder said in her southern Ferelden drawl, elongating vowels and adding an extra ‘h’ after every one. “Were you able to find anything in Rybrook for us? Blankets or bedding and the like?”

The question struck a nerve, though that was probably due to lack of sleep more than anything else. In truth, she did feel for the refugees. LIke her soldiers, they had been sleeping on the ground since their homes had been overrun. The soldiers just knew better than to ask if they’d had time to look for pillows.

“I’m afraid not, Elder.”

“That’s a shame. We have so many in need. The older ones are getting so very tired and I’m not sure they can keep up much longer. And young Shani is pregnant and puts on a brave face but she needs more care than we can give, especially sleeping on the hard ground.”

Tara put up a placating hand. “I am sorry but I have nothing to spare at the moment. I’ll have someone look through the wagons for anything of the kind and send what I can to you.”

“And there are so many who are sick or hurt,” the Elder continued, ignoring what Tara had said. It might not have been much of an answer, but it was the truth. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, I see the horrors you fight to keep us safe, but we lose so many each day. You have to see them.”

“I do, Elder.” She had seen them, and she truly wished that she had not.

“Some just drop from exhaustion, others from sickness or wounds. Some have the Blight and there’s nothing we can do.”

The Darkspawn attacks were bad enough on their own, but the way they constantly picked off stragglers, the way they seemed to rise from the ground whenever someone dropped their guard, was enough to drive a woman to hopelessness. She had seen refugees and soldiers alike fall and simply refuse to go on. Some lay down at the edge of the Highway, too exhausted to move. Some jumped from the side, including one that had looked Tara right in the eye before falling to his death. Bethany had been right beside her at the time. The girl was still coming to grips with what this death march truly was. She did not need such a callous reminder.

Tara again held up her hand. “I know. I have people foraging for herbs whenever we stop.”

“Begging your pardon, but so many of those go to the soldiers. We don’t have enough to go around, Commander, there just isn’t enough to keep the worst cases from dying. Sometimes it seems we're as likely to die from disease as we are from the Darkspawn.”

“I promise, I’ll send all that are available to you. We will share what we have, but right now no one has much of anything. What the soldiers use, they pay back by fighting the Darkspawn.” Tara spent a moment fumbling with her words, too exhausted or too tactless to think of a better way of putting it. “I am sorry, truly.”

The Elder’s wrinkled face creased further into a frown. “Hmm. Of course. But you’ve healers, don’t you? Mages?”

“The mages do not answer to me, Elder.” Though Maker I wish they did. “And they are needed just as desperately when the Darkspawn attack. If you have need of any healing they can provide, I would ask you to seek out Mother Berenice and her Templars.”

At least now Mother Berenice would be on the receiving end of one of these headaches. She truly did wish the Elder well in the effort. The mages could very well have the energy to spare each evening. No one was asking them to dig trenches, cook meals, or stand watch at the fortifications.

“I understand, but I heard there was another mage. An apostate.”

Tara’s patience bent like a dry reed. “Did you, now?”

“Your pardon, Commander, but her magic would be such a help for us. We have so many who are sick and -”

“I’m aware,” she said, cutting the Elder off more harshly than she intended. “She is a special case, as you can certainly imagine. If she can be spared this evening, I will see to it that she tends to your wounded. If there’s nothing else?”

“I - well, thank you, Mistress, I -”

“Very good. Thank you for your time, I’ll see what I can do about your requests.”

The poor woman, not knowing what to do, did not need to be ushered away by anything more than Tara’s rudeness. No doubt she was leaving disappointed, and as much as Tara felt for her, there was truly nothing she could do. Even if one of the wagons proved to have a false bottom and was lined tip to tail with poultices, it would still only slow the bleeding. Only Redcliffe would offer them any relief from the Blight, and she privately wondered if even its high walls would stop the Darkspawn for long. They still did not know how much of the Horde had followed them north from Ostagar. An Archdemon could be only a few days behind and they would not know it until they heard the thunder of its wings.

But, one thing at a time. First, she had to get through the night without being killed by Darkspawn or by committing any more heretical acts, such as beating a Chantry Mother senseless with her bare hands. Given the choice between the two, she would have preferred to see Darkspawn bearing down on her at the moment. Too bad for her, it was bright Chantry gold working its way through the crowd rather than muted Darkspawn grey.

Mother Berenice, despite the death glare she was giving Tara, did notice the dejected face of the Elder and stopped to offer her sympathies. Tara rolled her eyes but was mercifully distracted by another soldier giving a bleak report and asking for orders.

She did manage to catch part of their conversation anyway. The Elder asked for help and the Mother offered her prayers and told her to trust in the Maker. “If your people have needs, the Chantry will provide what succor it can in these dark hours. What we have, we will share with the people.”

Easy to say, when they had nothing save what Tara’s soldiers gave them, though if they were truly hoarding supplies for the faithful, one act of heresy would be a small price to pay if it meant saving more wounded soldiers. Surviving the Blight would require sacrifices, after all.

The Elder thanked her profusely. “Do you have medicine to spare, Revered Mother? Have you any food or blankets? There are women here who are with child, and small children who have lost their parents on the road.”

“The Chantry has always cared for those in need, child. Please, send them to us. If we can help them, I promise we will.”

As Mother Berenice finished with the Elder, wallowing in the praise like a mud-covered tusket, Tara curtly dismissed the soldier that had come seeking order amid the chaos. “Get the wounded together on that raised bit of ground to the south. If you can spare anyone, have them forage for elfroot before it gets too dark. Find volunteers from the refugees if you have to. We’re spread thin foraging for food as it is. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a ram or two, if we didn’t scare them off with all this damned noise.”

The soldier saluted and moved off toward his own subordinates. She was still getting used to that. Captain Varel had been something of a career soldier and she had been lucky to serve under him at Ostagar. Now he was the one waiting for instructions.

Mother Berenice finally extricated herself from the fawning attentions of the Elder and strode across the grass towards her, chin raised to the heavens. “Commander.”

Tara folded her arms impatiently. “What is it, Mother? I have precious little time to spare for you today.”

“I wanted to speak with you regarding the apostate in your care.”

“Of course you did.” Tara glanced toward the rock where Bethany had been sitting.

And found only the rock.

Of all the times to go missing, this was surely one of the worst. Mother Berenice was also looking around and did not disguise her annoyance when she found nothing. “While I understand you need every tool at your disposal to fight against the Darkspawn, I believe you are a smart woman. You understand the dangers posed by uncontrolled magic. Ser Aubrecht was… overzealous in his desire to contain that danger, and understandably so.”

“Assaulting my soldiers was understandable?” Tara asked dryly. “If he were anyone else, he would have been brought to Denerim in a cage, assuming we were not forced to leave such a heavy burden by the side of the road.”

“There are no incidents of disorder in your army? No drunken brawls?”

“Your man assaulted two soldiers on duty guarding the army’s commanding officer while the enemy was still in the camp. Darkspawn or no, I have hundreds of people in this army who would leave him in a ditch given half a chance.” Tara watched Berenice’s face darken and stepped forward, face to face, to emphasize her point. “But, as you said, I need every tool at my disposal to fight the Darkspawn, and your Templar has at least some skill with a blade.”

Mother Berenice held her gaze for several long breaths before finally backing down. “I was not here to speak about his indiscretions, though I will speak to him again. Perhaps separating him from the common soldiers is the best approach.”

Tara’s lip curled at her tone. Common soldier though she was, she still managed to hold her tongue.

“What I wish to speak of is what happens when things return to normal. When we reach Redcliffe, you will have no more need of this apostate, and she can be properly trained at the Circle of Magi. She will be among her own kind. As an apostate, she desperately needs a proper education or she risks harming herself and everyone around her. We may reach Redcliffe and safety only to find the greatest threat was hiding among us all along.”

Tara openly scoffed at that. The fear mongering made for a wonderful compliment, even if Bethany would have probably disagreed. She was clearly an immensely talented mage, so much so that Tara wondered if she would last longer against the Archdemon or against this one girl in a fit of pique.

“Do you believe the Blight ends when we reach Redcliffe?”

The Mother smiled in a mockery of kindness. “On the contrary, I know you will still have much ahead of you when we have a moment to regroup and recover. The King is dead, the Blight has been set loose on Ferelden, and I imagine you will be keen to help defeat it. I believe you and I can help each other.”

There was no doubt in Tara’s mind that she would not like what she was about to say. “Get to the point.”

“Ensure the apostate surrenders peacefully to us when this is over, and I will make sure your name is remembered as the one who stood against the Blight and did not waver.”

Tara actually laughed aloud. “You think I desire fame from all this?”

“I think you want to be the hero. I’ve heard the rumors about you, Commander, and I believe I know your story.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“You want a new start. I won’t pretend to know what you’re running from, but the way you appeared in the ranks so mysteriously, the way you rose to leadership so readily, the way you stood against Darkspawn and even my Templars with confidence in your sword arm tells me everything I need to know. You are no common soldier. You have a history.” Mother Berenice smiled, and this one held no illusion of kindness, only the cold confidence of knowing a filthy secret. “I know because that story is also mine. Few of us were born in the Chantry. Most of us seek it out, either for penance or protection.”

Tara frowned, folding her arms across her chest and saying nothing.

“I will tell the First Enchanter of your heroics, the Knight Commander of your diligence in bringing a dangerous apostate to heel, and all who will listen of your prowess as you fought in the Maker’s name. Your life before will mean nothing. All you have to do is convince one apostate to turn herself in.”

Mother Berenice looked around lazily, plainly searching for Bethany. Tara did her own quiet searching, this time for men in gleaming plate and bucket helms. Standing against the Blight had already cost her much. Leaving wounded men and women on the side of the road for the Darkspawn had not hardened her heart but shattered it. And it would not end in Redcliffe. More blood would be shed, for decades if not centuries as the Darkspawn corrupted the world. There would be no Ferelden afterwards, maybe not even Orlais. Tevinter would endure by virtue of being Tevinter, but what else would be lost?

This was who she had to be, now. She had to be heartless. If it meant one more person surviving the Blight, then she would make whatever sacrifice was required.

Mother Berenice, no longer looming like a vulture, smiled as she spread her hands and backed away. “No need to answer now, Commander. Think on what I have said. I know you will do what is necessary against the Blight.”

The red and gold robes of the Chantry priest receded from the clearing, melding but never quite vanishing into the sea of muddy, miserable refugees as they made ready to sleep where they fell. She watched for a long moment as Mother Berenice went to attend to her flock.

With a quiet curse and another angry glance at the shaded rock, Tara began grumbling. “Maker’s breath, where is that girl?”

“Get away from me!”

Bethany was thrown backward so hard she lost her balance and fell flat on her back. The man she had been kneeling over was also on his back and, despite his injuries, was now frantically pushing himself backward across the grass. He got about five feet before his arm caught a wounded woman’s leg and made her yelp in pain.

“I’m sorry! Please, just -”

“Stay back!” Seeing Bethany stand up again, the man tried to scramble away even faster. “I won’t have your magic in me. You’ll taint me, just as surely as they will!”

The soldier had been one of the more badly wounded, his arm having nearly been blown off by a fireball. His side had been opened by something jagged and filthy, leaving his clothing blackened and the wound almost certainly infected. It was a miracle he was even capable of moving.

“I won’t, I swear it. Please, just let me help you.”

Bethany’s pleas were interrupted by a firm grip on her arm and the rushing of two blood-stained medics to grab the panicked man before he hurt himself even more. The hand yanked her back away from the other wounded, back to the edge of one of the surgical tents. When she finally regained her feet, she saw a shorter man, about her height, glaring at her.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was just trying to help,” she repeated lamely. “He needs attention. That wound is infected.”

The man nodded toward his two companions who had succeeded in calming the soldier and returning him to his place on the ground. “That doesn’t mean coming in here and pushing your magic into him without a care in the world. Who told you to come here? What are you doing here without a Templar?”

Bethany felt herself begin to panic. This had been a mistake, a foolish gesture from a foolish girl who had forgotten what she was. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“Oh, you’re that apostate, aren’t you? The Commander’s pet mage.” The man shook his head and rubbed a grimy hand across his chin. “Maker, as if things weren’t bad enough. If she wants to help, tell her to at least warn me next time. I’ll save you the trouble of a walk. All you managed to do was terrify the moribund. That man will be dead by sundown and now his last hours will be spent in terror of being turned to an abomination.”

Beyond apology, Bethany just stood there and took it. Of course this was how it would turn out. Her magic was a curse. It would always be a curse. This was just a reminder that she never should have needed.

“Get out of here.” The man waved her away, turning his back on her and walking back toward the dying men she could have saved. “Tell your Mistress that if we need a proper mage, we know where to find them.”

The words stung more than they should have, and she spent the next few minutes just watching the wounded from the edge of their clearing. They were in agony. Some were crying, others were moaning. One repeated a name over and over as her face grew so ashen that she looked to be carved from marble.

And she could have saved them. Not all of them, she knew she wasn’t strong enough for that, but some, at least. If they had just let her, she could have made sure they didn’t die out here at the edge of the Wilds. There weren’t enough poultices to go around. There weren’t even enough bandages and many of the ones Bethany had passed on the ground had their wounds bound in scraps of clothing. Even water was scarce here. She should have just done that. A few hours passing out water from her canteen and they would have thanked her.

At length, she turned her back on the dying and trudged across the camp to where Tara had begun setting up her tent, arriving to find it already assembled and several sentries posted outside. This time there were no questions about why she was here, only a quiet nod and the opening of the tent flaps for her to enter.

Bethany didn’t say anything as she entered. She was still not even sure what she was doing here besides, as so many seemed to think, serving the Commander’s whims. As Tara had said the night before, that primarily included setting as many Darkspawn on fire as she could.

There were worse things she could be doing. And Tara had promised to bring her family back.

She took a moment to examine the woman solely responsible for defending so many people from the Blight. The cut on her cheek was still there, even if it had long since stopped bleeding. She had not thought of it before, but that had been a Darkspawn arrow, and many of those carried poisons beyond her skill to heal. That thought made the wound look more ominous, as though black tendrils were waiting to spill across her face and corrupt her.

“I see you’ve found your way back,” Tara said almost lazily.

Bethany made her way to the side of the tent, seating herself on a small stone that had apparently been rolled here for just this purpose. She wondered how much use they actually got. Perhaps those setting up the camp each night wanted some bit of normalcy to cling to, something from before the battle at Ostagar was lost.

She looked up to see Tara not looking at her but at a map of Ferelden. She hadn’t noticed it splayed out on a makeshift table that had been set up near the far side of the tent. “I thought I could do more good in the camp.”

Tara sniffed in amusement. “Very charitable for a wanted woman.”

The point was not lost on her, but she did straighten her spine all the same. “When I saw the Revered Mother on her way, I thought I would disappear for a bit, maybe try and do some good for the people here. The ones we could save, anyway.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. Even if she hadn’t meant it as an attack, she was still angry about it. Tara straightened, regarding her silently while she chose her words. She looked so impossibly tired. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could.”

“We should have tried to save them.”

Tara’s eyes flashed, her lip curling upward and for a moment she looked as though she might lash out at the challenge. Bethany flinched on instinct, preparing for the fight she had wanted to start, but the moment passed, and her answer was tense but quiet. “We did. I wish we could have saved them, Bethany, I truly do, but whatever chance we had was lost somewhere between the Chantry and the Highway. We saved many, and with luck they will begin new lives somewhere else when this is over. Those are the ones I encourage you to think of in your quiet hours. You have a good heart. I do not wish to see the Darkspawn corrupt that, too.”

The compliment caught her flat footed, so much so that she felt a bit of the lingering tension fade from her shoulders. This was not going at all how she had imagined. “I… thank you. I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh? Shall I guess exactly where you were while the Revered Mother was pestering me?” Tara had adopted a knowing smirk and now leaned over the table, peering down at her across the tent. “I would bet good sovereigns you were trying to use that magic of yours to heal the injured. Am I wrong?”

Bethany’s shoulders slumped further. “For all the good it did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I helped a few of the ones from Rybrook Hill, but when I tried to help one of the soldiers, he…” She looked up at Tara helplessly, trailing off for a long moment before finally finishing. “They didn’t want me around.”

The anger returned to Tara’s face, its heat more than enough to make Bethany uneasy. “Of course not. Superstitious idiots.” Perhaps noticing Bethany’s discomfort, Tara took a moment to compose herself. “I thank you for trying, all the same. Fear of magic should pale beside fear of the Blight, but folk do strange things when they are hurt or afraid or exhausted. I should not be surprised that, when all three are brought together, they resist what would surely save them.”

“And what of you?” Bethany asked, drawing a curious look from Tara. “Your wound. You never asked me or anyone else to treat it.”

“Things have been a little busy, as you may have noticed,” Tara replied wryly. She scratched at the dried blood on her cheek, flecking bits of it away as she did. “As for this, well, there are others in far greater need. Using a poultice on this seemed a bit of a waste.”

Bethany smiled slightly. “Maybe, but something tells me I won’t have people lining up anytime soon. I admit, I feel useless just sitting here when so many others are busy helping.”

“I’d hardly call what you did at Rybrook Hill useless. You’ve already done more than enough.” Tara watched Bethany’s reaction, or more appropriately her lack of one, and smiled. “Very well. It seems we have a moment of quiet.”

“You’re not worried about infection? Or the Blight?” Bethany asked as she crossed the tent to stand in front of Tara.

“They’re on the list,” Tara said with a smile. “A bit far down, but they’re on there.”

The cut was actually deeper than she remembered, and it was only now that she recalled how often Tara had wiped blood from her face after the battle. There were still smears of deep red where the blood had wept onto her face. She reached up a hand, tentatively brushing the edges of it with her fingers. It didn’t look like the Blight, or at least the kind of Blight that had taken Wesley just yesterday. Maker, it had only been one day. It felt like another lifetime.

Her hand began to glow a pale green and she tensed, expecting Tara to flinch or push her away. When she remained still, Bethany finished the spell, drawing from the Fade and allowing Tara’s body to reform itself. The flesh remembered what it was, how it was meant to be, and so it was eager to return to that state.

The red line across her face faded, along with any infection trying to take root there. Other scrapes and bruises here and there also began to fade, those not too old to be as much a memory of the body as the shape of her prominent jaw. A bruise on her neck, a small cut across her lips, a deep pain at the base of her skull, all these faded with the arrow wound. What she could not heal were the black bags beneath her eyes or the faint, white scar across the base of her neck and collarbone. Old wounds were harder to heal. Both the body and the mind had grown used to them, and they were now as much a part of her as the glimmering, icy blue of her eyes.

Those eyes nevertheless shone brightly as Bethany finished her work. “Thank you.”

Bethany smiled faintly. “Sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“You’re far too generous, you know.” Tara tilted her head slightly, eyeing Bethany curiously. “Tell me, where did you learn all this? You seem very practiced for someone hiding their gift.”

“A gift,” Bethany repeated with a small laugh. “Even my father never called it that. He’s the one who trained me. An untrained mage is easy prey for the demons.”

“I call it as I see it. It seems your father made certain you were anything but helpless. May I ask where he is?”

The way Tara stepped so cautiously around it made it somewhat easier to answer. It was an old pain, but she did miss him terribly. “He died of the Blight.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

“It was years ago,” Bethany said without conviction. “I’m glad for the time he spent with me. Time heals all, as they say.”

“They also say absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Tara answered quietly.

That was the truth, though Bethany hardly knew what to say in response. She nodded wordlessly and was thankful for the sympathy. Tara spent so long every day scowling and shouting orders that it was strange seeing her with any other expression on her face. Sympathy and its sister, kindness, were not what she expected.

It was not the face of someone who had burned Lothering without thought. She had never asked her about it, only blamed her for it. Of course, she still did, and she imagined she always would, but perhaps she should ask her about it. If Bethany truly was wrong about her, then she would want to talk about it.

She looked up to find Tara still regarding her in silent curiosity. “Can I ask -”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Marian’s voice rang out from behind her.

Bethany turned away from Tara, overjoyed. “Sister!”

Her sister was not overjoyed, and instead stood at the entrance to the command tent, one eyebrow raised and a very strange look on her face. Bethany waited for her sister to greet her properly before turning on her fully.

“That’s it?” she asked, now as frustrated as she was happy. “That’s all I get?”

“I could say the same to you, you know.” Marian’s smug, squinty look returned, the one that made her look like an oversized, over-happy cat. “All this time and you don’t even look for your favorite sister? I’m hurt. Or, I could have been, and you never would have even known.”

“I had Templars to worry about! They found me and brought me back with them the first night. I thought they were just going to kill me right there.”

Marian dropped the look of smugness immediately. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Her sister could go from apathetic to overprotective at the mere mention of the Templars and that had been before the Blight and all that came with it. It was endearing, in a way, but it was also an annoying reminder that she was perfectly capable of being serious whenever she liked. “No, they didn’t. I went quietly. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know where you were, where Mother was. I thought, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad, not having to hide anymore.”

Overprotection gave way to sympathy, then once more to smugness. “And I take it your new friend here had other ideas.”

“I did. Bethany was an enormous help outside of Lothering and generously agreed to further lend her talents on the road. There was an… incident with the Templars and I stepped in when she was threatened.”

Tara nudged her way past Bethany to stand in front of the table. For a moment, she had forgotten she was right beside her. Was that why her sister had given her such a look? Because they were standing next to each other? Was the Blight so boring that she had nothing else to think of but invented romances?

“And this is out of the goodness of your heart, is it?” Marian asked snidely.

“No.” The flatness of the response, though Bethany had started to expect it, still stung a little. “The mages who fought with us at Ostagar had the best position to see what was happening. Most of them got out when the army collapsed - frankly, I don’t blame them. The ones who are here with us found their way here through bad luck or worse judgement and they are very, very tired.”

Bethany felt a pang of guilt for leaving them with the Templars. It was ridiculous, and she knew it, but even if they were safe and protected by those faceless metal golems, it was hard to miss the Sword of Mercy emblazoned on every breastplate.

“So you want my sister to make up for every mage in the Circle? No pressure.”

“She’s already done far more than I could have asked,” Tara answered easily, casting an appreciative look toward Bethany. This new kindness caught her as unprepared as the last and she managed only a look of slight surprise as thanks. “I doubt many of us would be here without her. That, of course, only makes it harder to ask even more of her, but the Darkspawn leave us little choice.”

Marian squinted further, appraising Tara both the Commander and as the one responsible for her sister’s care. Her lips thinned as she did and she said nothing for a long moment. Was that a good thing?

“I’ll be fine, sister. I can take care of myself.”

“You were away from me for one afternoon and you were collared by the Templars before dinner. It seems to me you need someone looking out for you.”

Bethany felt her face heating with indignation. “Well it wasn’t as though I had many places I could hide!”

She looked at Tara for help but the woman had an infuriatingly amused look on her face.

The sound of the tent flap being opened again saved her from any further embarrassment, and let in the one person who could have brought all this arguing to a stop. “Mother!”

Marian, still standing by the front of the tent, barely had time to turn around before their mother threw herself at her. “Oh, my girls! You’re alive! Thank the Maker you’re alive.”

Bethany flew across the tent and wrapped her arms around both of them, prompting a groan from Marian. “Yes, yes, we’re all safe. No need to get all mushy about it.”

“I’m your mother, and I will get as mushy about you being alive as I please.”

Burying her head in her mother’s shirt, Bethany felt like a child again. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I tried to find you, but - are you alright? Where have you been?”

It was Tara who answered that. “Your mother has made as much a name for herself as you, Bethany. Second Company was reluctant to give her up, even for her own children. They seem to have taken quite a liking to her.”

Marian raised one scandalized eyebrow. “Mother, and I never thought I would have to ask this, but what have you been doing to keep these soldiers so happy?”

Bethany made a disgusted noise and punched her sister in the arm. Mother swatted her on the head. Tara did nothing, smiling and seeming to fade a bit into the background.

“For your information, I have been mending their clothing,” Mother snapped, her anger rolling effortlessly into sincerity. “As well as cooking for them and fetching them water. Some of them have had me write letters to their families or the families of the ones who are lost at Ostagar. They want someone to know what happened to them.”

Bethany hugged her that much tighter. That was just like her. Marian did the same, silent in her approval. Even she knew when it was appropriate not to make a joke. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Mother.”

“Safer than you!” Her mother’s ire, now turned on Bethany, changed the embrace from a hug to her mother holding her at arm’s length like a dog who had just relieved herself in the house. “What were you thinking? I’ve heard all about what you’ve been doing. An Ogre! You fought an Ogre on your own? After everything that happened with - with -”

The arms fell slack again as her mother abruptly burst into silent tears. Marian held her close, giving Bethany a thin, I’m-glad-you’re-safe smile. Bethany returned it. At least her sister understood.

Mother’s fit of sobbing only lasted a few moments before she composed herself. Bethany could hardly imagine how difficult this was for her. Her own fits of grief were similar, hot blades of loss and melancholy that pierced her heart in the dead of night, then withdrew unseen to wait and strike again. They came so suddenly that her knees buckled and all she could think of was her brother, but when they left, it was all gone so quickly that she felt guilty. She should be in mourning. She had just lost her brother. Carver deserved to be in all her thoughts.

She found her own tears welling up but not falling and again wondered what was wrong with her. Too preoccupied with her own life to mourn her brother, too worried about Templars to be bothered.

Marian released her mother just enough to bring Bethany in closer, holding her as though she had just read her thoughts and disapproved.

The tent flap snapped open, startling the three of them as someone Bethany had begun to recognize pushed her way in. She knew Sergeant Eleisa mostly by the eyepatch but her cocky mannerisms were becoming just as recognizable.

“Commander, I - uh, I’m interrupting something.”

Tara made a noise of half embarrassment, half exhaustion. After spending the day with her, she was beginning to pick up on those, too. “It’s alright. What did you have for me?”

Eleisa skirted the edge of the huddled family and approached Tara, speaking in a low voice. Bethany did her best to eavesdrop but it sounded like more of the same. Darkspawn scouts had been sighted. Fortifications had been set around the camp. Food was scarce as laughter.

“Promise me,” Mother said quietly, drawing Bethany’s attention back to her family. “Promise me you won’t take any more risks like that.”

Marian’s shoulders sagged. “Mother -”

“I know you have to fight. I understand that. I’ve made my peace worrying over you a long time ago.” Her gaze fell heaviest on Bethany. “But not you. I’ve tried so hard to keep you safe. There’s so much of your father in you and I can’t bear the thought of losing that. Please, I know - I know she’s keeping the Templars at bay, but don’t let her put you in danger like that again. I know what happened at that village today. You were both out there between us and the Darkspawn, all alone.”

Bethany looked up at Marian, who was holding in a cutting remark that would have defused the tension. Instead, she left Bethany to speak for herself. “I’ll try, Mother, but I don’t know if I can. It’s not just the Darkspawn, it’s the Templars. I can’t let them find me again.”

“After all these years of hiding, of running from the Templars, I would still rather know you were safe in the Circle than dead from the Blight.”

Bethany winced at that. So did Marian, though she still remained quiet. “At least I’m allowed to fight the Darkspawn. With the Templars, I feel like I’m helpless.”

“That woman said there was an incident with them. What happened? Are you safe? Did they hurt you?”

“It was my fault.” Tara’s voice cut through the whispered conversation like a scythe through wheat. She probably didn’t mean to be so forceful, but she was the Commander, and it showed. “After she helped us get out of Lothering alive, I was preoccupied with keeping the column together. She gave my people the slip, which I should have expected, and I was too slow in finding her. The Templars found her first. That night, during the Darkspawn attack, she again saved many lives by slaying that Ogre. The Templars are labouring under the delusion that she killed one of their own to get away.”

Marian swore quietly. Mother gasped, casting shocked looks at Bethany and Tara in turn. “You can’t - I don’t believe that. You don’t believe them, do you?”

“No, and for what it’s worth, not all of them believe it, either.” That tiny admission got Bethany’s hopes up more than it had any right to. Tara seemed to notice and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You still have friends among them. Sister Leliana is proof enough of that. But, until things settle down, I think it is best if Bethany remains here with me. She will be safe, at least until we reach Redcliffe. The king may be dead but his army still lives, and the Templars are, for the moment, not willing to wade through it to get to you.”

There was that look again. Marian was eyeing Tara up and down with unnerving intensity. She said nothing and neither did Tara, though it would have been impossible not to notice the look. Instead, it was Mother who spoke.

“No.”

The word startled everyone, including Marian, who abandoned picking apart Tara to regard Mother in surprise. “You heard her, Mother, about the Templars. Bethany will be safe here.”

“No, she won’t. She’ll be trading Templars for the Darkspawn. That’s what you want from her, isn’t it? To keep her fighting those creatures day and night?”

Tara tried again to appear sympathetic. “It is. I am sorry, mistress, but I need her.”

“You can’t take her! There are other mages! Ones who are trained. Let them fight. Leave her out of this.”

“I wish that I could.” Tara at least sounded sincere in that and Bethany was unsure if she should be comforted by it. “But until we reach Redcliffe, I need Bethany with me. She has already shown herself to be a mage of incredible skill and has shown bravery in the face of unspeakable danger. With her, we stand a real chance of getting out of this alive, and every day she is fighting with us, dozens of refugees, of your neighbors, are given a chance at a new life.”

The compliments fell a bit flat when they were meant to put her in front of the Darkspawn horde, but it was some small comfort that at least she was good for something. “Please, Mother, let me go. I can fight.”

Mother ignored her. “Surely there are others that can help her, at least. If they can’t take her place, don’t send her out there alone.”

“She won’t be alone, I promise you that. Between the Darkspawn and the Templars, I would feel much better having her close at hand.” Tara seemed to consider something, then, pausing as she looked toward Mother. “You mentioned writing letters for the soldiers. You know how to write?”

All three of them looked surprised by that but Mother looked especially taken aback. “Of course I do!”

“I meant no offense, mistress,” Tara said with a thin smile. “But you are from a rather… rural part of the country.”

“And thank you so much for bringing it up so slowly,” Marian quipped. “The pauses help our simple minds keep pace.”

Mother ignored the jab, though Tara looked unamused. “What does that matter?”

Bethany put a hand on Mother’s arm and shot a glare at Marian. “We all do. What are you asking for?”

“I already said I have need of you, Bethany, but I also need the services of a scribe.”

Marian coughed loudly and rudely. “What could you possibly need a scribe for?”

“There wasn’t a lot of time to take inventory when we left Ostagar, and we’ve been on the run ever since. Keeping an army fighting takes food, weapons, bandages, and a thousand other things. At the moment, I don’t know if we have any of them. I don’t even know how many soldiers I still have in this camp, let alone how many refugees joined us on the road.” Tara looked toward Bethany almost apologetically. “There is also the matter of the Templars. They may learn the two of you are related and I know how harsh they can be on those who shelter apostates.”

Bethany’s ears perked up at that. Was this not her first time sheltering an apostate? Unfortunately, she sensed now was not the time to press for an answer.

Mother looked toward her, the same look in her eyes Bethany had seen before every move. It was the look that said someone was coming, that it was no longer safe to stay here. That look had ended so many chapters of her young life.

“What about her?” Bethany asked, turning to Marian before looking back to Tara. “They will surely know her as my sister soon enough.”

Tara gave Marian an appraising look and smirked. “Something tells me your sister can take care of herself if they do. Besides, from what I’ve heard, Aveline has her running headfirst into Darkspawn day and night. If they come for her, at least they’ll be fighting Darkspawn to get there.”

“Well, now I feel left out.”

Already practiced at ignoring Marian, Tara returned to Mother. “Would that put your mind at ease? I would not want you to be with her at all times, you understand, though if you can hold your own the same way your daughters can, I would very much like to know about that.”

“You’ve already conscripted two of us,” Marian said petulantly. “Don’t be greedy.”

“So I’ll be here? With my daughter?”

“Yes. Until I need her.”

From where Bethany was standing, Tara’s look was almost compassionate. It was not a look she had seen before. Until now, everything looked veiled. For some reason, now, by enlisting her mother as a scribe, perhaps by giving her a place to sleep, she looked genuine.

The look stayed with her until Bethany finally laid her head down on the grass in the corner of the command tent. She let Mother take the bedroll, of course, and made herself as comfortable as she could nearby. When she did sleep, it was with an almost impossible sense of peace. Seeing her family alive again, and having her mother close, had reminded her there was still good in this world.

And if she had to fight Darkspawn to protect that, so be it.


	7. The Face of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a skirmish with the Darkspawn, Bethany finds herself singled out and cut off from her magic

“I don’t like her.”

Bethany did not need to look to see who Marian was talking about. Tara was standing near one of the wagons, barking orders to soldiers that rushed up the road ahead of the soon-to-depart refugees. She was without a doubt beyond earshot but Marian probably would have been just as brash in saying it if she was standing in front of them.

Waiting for a quip, Bethany found herself forced to prompt Marian when it did not come. “What?”

“I don’t like her.”

“Yes, you said as much.” Bethany rolled her eyes and stepped in front of her to draw her gaze. “I’d ask you to be a bit more specific, sister, because right now she’s the only one standing between me and the Templars.”

“She isn’t standing between you and them, she’s pushing Darkspawn at you and hoping the Templars are too busy to care.”

“The Darkspawn push themselves around just fine, so far as I can tell,” Bethany replied irritably.

Marian was unamused. It took a lot for her to take anything seriously and Bethany knew it, so she probably should have been paying it more mind, but right now she was just glad to only have the Blight to worry about.

“But they’re awfully convenient for her, aren’t they? I’ll have to try that sometime. The next time anyone asks me when I’m going to settle down and have children, I’ll just point at the Darkspawn.”

Bethany tugged at the handkerchief wrapped around her neck and looked toward Tara again. “She didn’t have to stand up for me, you know. It would probably have been easier to side with the Templars.”

“I haven’t spent as much time around her as you, but I don’t think the Templars offer her the same things. Like fire. You offer a lot more fire than they do.”

Again Bethany bristled. “You don’t need to remind me that I’m just a thing that kills Darkspawn. I’m no more human than they are.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“It’s the truth.” Bethany again nodded toward the Commander. “At least she is willing to trust me, even if it is just to kill Darkspawn. If she’s willing to keep Mother safe, as well, I’m willing to fight when she asks me to.”

“What makes you think she trusts you?”

“She took me into the fields at Rybrook Hill. Alone.”

Marian interrupted with a look of disgust. “How could you? In the middle of a Blight and everything!”

Had they been alone, Bethany might have set her trousers on fire. Instead, she ignored the jibe. “Everyone thinks I killed a Templar. If she believed them, she never would have done that. I could have left her for the Darkspawn. No one would have known.” She stopped short, looking around to make sure no one was listening in. There were dozens of soldiers around but, for once, the way they all avoided her was a blessing. “She trusts me that much. And she let me heal her after the battle.”

“Oh, is that what I walked in on?”

“I - what?”

Her look of mock disgust had now turned to a predatory grin. “You and her? Come on, dear sister. Last night, I saw the two of you standing so close together I thought you might have been, you know, _persuading_ her to keep you around.”

Bethany swung at her sister’s arm and wished she could put the same hurt into it that her more muscle-bound siblings could. “That is - I’m not even interested!”

“Not at all? She’s got a uniform, some respect, and as you keep mentioning she’s protecting you from the big bad Templars.”

“I’m glad you’re able to make jokes about it. What if she actually asked me to do something like that? I could have to pick between being made Tranquil and - and _that._ ”

The thought honestly made her sick. Tara quite literally had a sword hanging over her neck that she could drop at any time. The sword was not even hers. She could have Bethany executed and not even stain her uniform with the blood. The people would probably cheer her on. If she decided to ask for… something like _that_ , Bethany was not even sure she would refuse. Oh, yes, she was going to be sick.

Not that Marian cared. “You’re being a little harsh, don’t you think? She’s not that bad looking.”

Bethany had never been so tempted to allow a demon of rage to possess her body and bludgeon her sister into the dirt. “Could you please be serious for one moment, sister?”

“I was. I don’t like her. I was being serious when I said that. I worry that she is using you.”

“Well, you can be assured that she is.” Bethany began rubbing her hands up and down her arms, suddenly cold despite the sun’s rays. “But as long as she’s using me, I get to be alive. If I keep killing Darkspawn, I don’t get made Tranquil. Right now, it’s as simple as that. If that means being her prisoner, I can live with that.”

Marian, at least, had the decency to take that seriously. She put one hand on Bethany’s arm, squeezing her gently before pulling her in for a hug. “I didn’t know where you were, after Lothering, you or Mother. I won’t let you both disappear on me again. You’re not her prisoner, alright? I’m just letting her borrow you.”

As ridiculous as it was, she did find a little comfort in Marian’s blithe dismissal of both the King’s Army and the Templars when it came to protecting her little sister. Bethany found herself smiling. “Alright.”

“Bethany!” The shout came from up the road in a voice now familiar to both of them. Jogging toward them was Tara, hair tightly braided to avoid blowing about during battle. She reached them a moment later, eyeing them with mild annoyance. “I thought I told you to stay with me while we were on the road.”

It was Marian who answered. “And here I thought you were supposed to be keeping her safe.”

“That’s why I need her close by.” Tara turned on Bethany reproachfully. “The Templars are still looking for you. I don’t know that they’ll do anything but standing in the open on your own is a good way to find out. What are you doing? Is everything alright?”

She did not need reminding. “We were just talking about our mother. We’re concerned for her, that’s all.”

“I’ve set her up in one of the central wagons. She’s as safe as she can be. I understand your concern, but if you want to help, stay close to me, follow my orders, and kill as many Darkspawn as you can. Sound good?”

Bethany nodded. That was all she was good for, after all. “Yes.”

“Really? Because you’ve done a piss-poor job of following them so far.” Tara said it with a bit of a smirk but Bethany honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Either way, it was Marian’s turn next. “You. Shouldn’t you be up clearing the road with Aveline?”

“She told me to take it easy, today. Too much work makes me sour.”

Tara answered with a glare and a brusque “Get up there.”

And Marian did, leaving Bethany alone with Tara as she trotted away. All she could leave behind was a look of concern, one that told her to be careful of the woman protecting her. Bethany wanted to believe she could trust her, truly and completely, but that was not how the world worked. The Chant of Light was clear, and she had been made to serve others with her curse.

Tara seemed to notice the black thoughts lingering in her mind. She was suddenly very self-conscious of them and wondered how much Tara had read in her features.

“Are you alright?” she asked, sounded as sincere as could be asked.

Bethany did not answer right away. She had never been a very good liar. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What happens when this is all over? When we get to Redcliffe?” She looked around again, furtively searching for anyone in Chantry robes or Templar plate, and lowered her voice to a whisper barely audible above the din. “Will you let me go?”

It took blood magic to truly read another’s thoughts, or so Bethany had been told, and right now the forbidden arts seemed as tempting as an unwatched pie cooling at the table. This was her life she was asking for, and she had just come out and asked. No lead up, no flattery or promise of favors, just outright asking if this woman would defy the Chantry for her. Again.

Tara’s stern face turned soft and her lips thinned. “I would.”

Bethany’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re serious? You would defy them again?”

“They haven’t done much for me lately, if we’re being honest,” Tara said lightly.

“You sound like my sister.”

“I will take that as high praise. When we arrive at Redcliffe, if you truly wish me to let you go, Bethany Hawke, I will. I spoke truly when I said I would do anything to get these people to that city safely. If you help me, if you help all of us, then I would grant you anything you asked.” She paused abruptly, seeming to wince before continuing. Again Bethany wished she could have heard what was going on in her head. “But, if you don’t mind, can I ask if that is truly what you want? I know the Templars here aren’t exactly welcoming, but is the Circle truly so bad? Are all the Templars there so violent? If you could get there without some idiot accusing you of killing one of his friends, I mean.”

She certainly didn’t beat around the bush. Now it was Bethany’s turn to hesitate. “I don’t know.”

Tara seemed to take that as the perfect answer. “I don’t imagine you’ve had much of a choice until now. Just give it some thought. I don’t know where you and your family are heading after this, but the Circle might be the safest place for you right now.”

“Hoping I’ll stick around and keep fighting once this is over?”

She asked it as a joke but that was just to soften the blow when Tara said yes.

Instead, she looked taken aback. “No. I -”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of horns behind them. From the east, the sound of fighting could be heard now rising over the sounds of moving wagons and tramping feet. The Darkspawn were here.

The panic was instant. Suddenly, everyone was moving at a run, threatening to stampede anyone in the way who was not as frantic as those behind. Tara swore and was immediately hit by a man twice as big as herself. She would have gone straight to the ground if Bethany had not been standing next to her, catching her mostly by accident.

Tara, when she righted herself, gave Bethany a grateful squeeze of her arm. “Right. Plenty of time for talk on the road.”

“How are there always so many of them?” Bethany asked, already moving toward the sound of battle. Just two days ago, she would have been running the opposite way as fast as her legs could carry her.

Marian would have made fun of her for losing what good sense she had. Carver might have been proud.

“Maker only knows. Let’s just make sure there’s not as many when we leave.”

Bethany’s mind was not built to handle combat. That could have been for any number of reasons - her natural disposition, her experiences in the Fade, the way the demons whispered during even the most heated moments - but whatever it was, she found herself thinking of the strangest things between the intense bursts of fire and death.

She had never properly thanked her father for the boots he had given her. All this marching and fighting and clamoring over rocky ground and her feet were barely sore. True, they hurt every night and pleaded each dawn for a few hours of rest, but they were not nearly as bad as most of the refugees. The soldiers had been running and fighting for even longer and she had treated more than a few with horrible wounds that should have left them unable to walk for months.

So, as the Darkspawn appeared in the clearing once again, Bethany was thinking about the quality of her shoes, something that was never mentioned in her favorite childhood stories. She had rather liked the dramatic good-versus-evil stories, the ones with knights in shining armor. But battles had always unfolded so much more cleanly in those tales. The Darkspawn appeared and lined up, yelling and banging their shields and giving the heroes a chance to face them and give heroic speeches.

These Darkspawn just popped out of the ground. One moment, they were all standing around, waiting for the Darkspawn charge, and the next, they were on them. Tara had been standing beside her, saying something encouraging that Bethany could no longer remember. There was a brief moment, a bit of movement in the trees that everyone knew meant trouble, and then the whole clearing was filled with them. There was no show of force, no time for her to say something clever or even for Tara to finish whatever she had been saying. The Darkspawn just ran at them, and everyone started dying.

Bethany found herself only a few scant yards from the line of grinning Darkspawn, their guttural laughter only growing more chilling as they died and the sounds grew choked and wet. Tara put herself between her and the worst of it, fighting side by side with her soldiers. That, at least, was very much like what Bethany remembered.

Men out-screamed the Darkspawn as they clashed in dozens of smaller battles across the field, each one life or death for every creature engaged. Bethany looked from one to the next, watching for anyone who needed her help. One soldier was knocked flat on her back, her own scream ceasing with an abrupt cough as the wind was knocked from her chest. The monster that had put her on the ground took a quick step forward, axe raised in homicidal glee.

This one Bethany could stop. Rime encrusted then encased the massive creature, its limbs refusing to bend as it was soon locked in place. The ice was soon broken by two arrows that sprouted from the creature’s throat and chest. She would leave the ice where it was, but she was satisfied that, once it melted, the creature would not come looking to finish what it began.

The woman on the ground was hoisted to her feet and soon recovered herself, pelting off to join her friends in their own struggle. It was the only satisfaction afforded Bethany before a blast of fire ripped through a pair of soldiers trying to join Tara in the center of the fray. This was Bethany’s private battle to fight, and as terrified as she was, she was at least growing used to overcoming that fear.

“Bethany!” Tara’s voice rang out above the din. “Bethany! That’s enough! Get back to the Highway! We’ll be right behind you!”

She nearly obeyed on instinct before stopping herself. What had she been brought here for if not to stop these mages? Swords and shields were not much good against fireballs. They were helpless without Templars or another mage.

Rather than shout back at Tara, she pretended not to hear her, shuffling backward a bit and keeping an eye out for more Darkspawn magic. She could rationalize that, at least. Her curse was less horrible if it took these monsters out of the world. It might make it easier to live with all the other horrible things it had done to her family. Tara, when this was over, would understand that.

More fire leapt from the treeline and burst somewhere to her right but gave away the position of the mages. Her excitement at being useful mixed with the animal terror that came with every Darkspawn howl and the prospect of facing these monsters in a fight to the death. Her staff suddenly became more walking stick than arcane focus as she scampered forward, searching for a glimpse of her target. Father had done so much to train her and to keep her safe from her own curse, but Maker, he could have spent more time preparing her for a Blight.

There! Her staff plunked the ground softly, churning up a geyser of earth as she flicked it forward and sent a fireball of her own zipping toward the trees and the cluster of dark figures within. The Darkspawn mages did not even try to avoid it. The explosion thundered and brought a few cheers from the soldiers paying enough attention to see it happen. Bethany allowed herself a grin.

Too soon. More fire rushed from the woods, this time straight at Bethany in a howling gale of ignited air. Only through sheer panic was she able to push the magic away from her, willing it back into the Fade where it would have no chance to harm her. The heat was still unbelievable and she felt her skin crack and blister just from being near it.

When the storm ended, she shook her hands madly as though they had caught fire along with everything else. Her throat burned and she felt sure she tasted copper when she breathed. All around her, the earth was charred and black.

Not just around her feet, but all around her. She had thought herself safe and far from the fighting, but dozens of charred bodies lay in the field, both human and Darkspawn. Her own voice came as though at great distance, the prayer on it born from another’s panic. “Maker, watch over us.”

More screaming from beside her as the Darkspawn laughter grew loud, and she could not help but glance and see the end of several brave soldiers. Darkspawn hacked at the bodies with a violence so primal it made her sick. They turned to her, now, and stalked closer.

“Bethany!” Tara’s voice was barely audible above the noise. Wherever she was, she was not close enough to help. “Get out of here! Run!”

She looked from the Darkspawn with their bloodied weapons to the one that had set the world on fire and could only ask “Where?”

Tara did not answer, and she could not possibly have even heard. The mage strode from the clearing and looked over the ruin it had made. This one carried a gnarled and twisted staff, the top of it as burnt as the ground it walked on. Small talismans and fetishes dangled from strings, matching those that swung from its neck and arms. The face, when it came exposed to the morning sun, was what revolted her the most. Its head was already washed in blood, its forehead seeming to be painted in the stuff. The face-splitting grin that haunted every Darkspawn face seemed almost mundane compared to the way its eyes seemed to fixate on Bethany. They seemed to study her, look her up and down, and prompted the demons in her mind to whisper terrible things.

The other Darkspawn were closing on her, now, and she forced herself to look away. Fire crackled in her hand and shot forth to burn them away. That would give her time to deal with this other mage.

Nothing happened. The fire turned to sparks and faded on the wind.

Icy terror seized her. The Darkspawn came, weapons drawn, charging at her. They were hungry. The Darkspawn mage looked on, grinning. She watched as it raised a hand toward her and roared a wordless command.

The other Darkspawn were on top of her, now. She brought her staff forward in a panicked swing, conjuring enough magic to send it flying back all the way to the trees, stopping against one with a loud crash before sliding to the base, unmoving. Two more were coming and she tried to push them away with fire but the flames still would not come.

Someone rushed up from behind her, shoving her aside and slamming into the two monsters. He was yelling at her “Come on, then! Kill that bastard with the fire! Help her out!”

Two more soldiers rushed passed her and began hacking at the other Darkspawn, but it didn’t last long. Unable to help them no matter how hard she tried, the two Darkspawn, though outnumbered, soon overpowered and butchered the three men that had rushed to help her. One looked up at her pleadingly, asking wordlessly why she had let him die. She couldn’t even answer.

The Darkspawn with the staff still waited, watching her. Again, as she turned, it raised its hand to her.

Seeing the Darkspawn walk toward her, she pushed against whatever was stopping her from using her magic. She pushed again, and again, and again. Fire licked at her fingertips before vanishing in the air as nothing more than a puff of smoke. Ice turned to droplets of water that joined the sweat on her shaking hands.

The Darkspawn stepped over the bodies of the dead and came closer. Their laughter was the only sound left in the world beyond the thunder of blood in her ears. This was it. One raised its sword.

Bethany screamed. “No!”

Her hands came up in a pitiful gesture of defiance. The Darkspawn only laughed harder. The sword came swinging into her, catching her in the ribs where the chainmail covered her. It knocked with wind from her, sending her to the ground in a heap. She looked down, expecting to see blood but her hands came away dry.

A massive hand grabbed her hair and began dragging her along the ground, all but blinding her with pain as she struggled against the iron grip. Her neck wrenched with every step the Darkspawn took. The other one, the one that had struck her, walked behind her, staring at her and menacing her with the blade. Tears of pain and hopelessness blurred the world around her.

Her back jolted even more as she was dragged over the body of one of the soldiers protecting her. She couldn’t hear them anymore. They were all dead. Everyone was dead but her. And they were taking her. Why? Where?

Even the whispers of the demons faded. Even they would not help her here.

“Hey!” The laughter stopped. Bethany felt herself tossed to the side so violently that the world went white. “Get your hands off her!”

Steel clashed against steel as she regained her senses, pushing herself onto one side and wiping her eyes with a sleeve.

It was just in time to see Tara cut down the first Darkspawn, sword flashing in the sunlight. The one that had dragged Bethany away roared and charged, swinging its own blade down at her head too fast for her to watch. It seemed to stumble, expecting Tara’s head to stop the blow rather than empty air, letting Tara move around it and shove her sword beneath its shoulder.

A moment later she was at Bethany’s side, a vision of the Maker’s mercy in a halo of blinding light. “Bethany! Are you hurt? Can you walk?”

She felt the fire coming. She didn’t need to see that strange Darkspawn channeling it to know where it was coming from and who it would turn to ash. Tara’s hand was under her arm, pulling her up from the ground, expecting her to be helpless. She would not be helpless. Not again.

Bethany grasped Tara’s arm and pulled herself up with a jerk, face crashing into her shoulder, her free hand outstretched in defiance. The fire smashed into her ward, engulfing the world around them in another apocalyptic firestorm that would have left the both of them as nothing more than piles of bone in a barren field.

The storm howled around them but Bethany refused to give in. She strained against the creature’s will, feeling for all the world like she was caught in a thunderstorm, a single candle against all the rain and wind the sky could unleash. It took everything she had to shelter that flame. She would have fallen to her knees if not for Tara holding her.

When the fire finally dissipated, the storm spent, Bethany shouted wordlessly in pain as much as relief. Her eyes, still blurred with tears and now with dust, focused on the distant creature. It still stood, waiting, at the edge of the forest, staring at her.

“Maker,” Tara whispered into her shoulder. “What is that thing?”

Bethany’s eyes were still fixed on the Darkspawn that stood motionless across the blackened field. “I - I don’t know.”

Tara growled. “Right. We’re done here. That one’s all that’s left, so if you want to just put it out of its misery for me, I’d really appreciate it. How about that? Do you have that in you?”

How she wished she could. All her life, all the trouble her magic had caused her, and it could not even save her from this one Darkspawn. Again, all she could manage was “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright. You did good.” Tara cursed under her breath before shouting over her shoulder. “Pull back! Get on the Highway and follow the column! Move your asses!”

Bethany found herself being dragged backward. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the strange Darkspawn and so stumbled over her feet as Tara continued to pull at her, all the while alternating between murmured encouragement and desperate shouts to the soldiers. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever you did, it isn’t coming after us. That’s just as good as killing it, right? Find your feet, Bethany, we’ve got a lot of running to do and I don’t feel like carrying you the whole way. Do you hear me?”

She did, and soon she did manage to get her feet beneath her. Running away was something she could still do, but even as she ran, she could feel those eyes on her, burning into the back of her head long after the stench of charred earth and bodies had faded.


	8. The Dangers of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany recovers from being nearly dragged away by Darkspawn. Tara deals with a budding rumor about the encounter and attempts to comfort Bethany.

There was no clearing when they stopped for the night. This part of the Highway ran on for miles without a break and the broken ground near the Wilds sometimes rose and fell by hundreds of feet, leaving travelers stranded on spans that they could not leave except by growing wings and stepping into the open air.

It was on one of these that they chose to make camp. All told, it was not the worst place they could stop. The only way the Darkspawn could get to them was by climbing the supports up to them, assuming that was even possible, or by walking up the open road from either the front or rear. With so few avenues of approach, it meant that more soldiers could rest while their comrades took watch or patrolled for climbers. It also saved them digging latrines and created the rather amusing image of hundreds of souls forsaking their modesty and clustering at the railings to ruin the day of anything passing far below.

It was the only amusement Tara was likely to get this evening and she knew it. After the battle this morning, the rest of the day had been fairly quiet, and for that she was grateful. Bethany had been put in one of the wagons to ride for the rest of the day. It would give her physical wounds a chance to heal, even if her mental ones would likely be more severe. The poor girl had been through enough the last few days. Being dragged away by Darkspawn was the last thing she needed.

She was glad Bethany agreed to remain in the command tent with her family to recover. That left Tara free to deal with the usual barrage of demands for food, water, and safety that came every night. Maker, as much as she wished she could meet those demands, they should have known better than to ask for so much. That was what she expected when she saw the Elder hobbling her way between parked wagons along the cramped span.

She did her best to keep her answers cool and measured, patiently ticking through their reasons for stopping where they did. Her efforts redoubled when she noticed that they were conspicuously not alone. Despite the clamour of an army making camp and all the smells that came with it, she could both hear and smell Mother Berenice watching them. Why the woman thought to cover the stench of a long march with scented oils was beyond her. She could feel sorry for whoever was responsible for porting those extra few pounds of glass jars halfway across Ferelden.

“I’m truly sorry, Elder,” Tara said, ending the woman’s pleading with as much care as she could muster. “We’re still getting a handle on what we’ve brought with us. Just this evening, we found a crate of rations in one of the wagons and will be distributing them when we can. We’ll get word to you soon.”

Mistress Hawke had already outdone herself, finding badly-needed supplies in places that someone should have noticed by now. In all likelihood someone had known about them, but that person was now lying face down in the mud somewhere between here and Ostagar. Tara was determined not to have that happen again.

The Elder nodded and shuffled and slowly began making her way toward the refugees. That left Tara alone with her over-perfumed shadow. She wondered what would happen if she just walked away. She could duck into her tent and order the guards not to disturb her. That would be amusing, if not exactly the most tactful decision.

“Commander?”

The new voice surprised her. She had heard the soldier approach but had not thought anything of it. A few paces to her left was a man in splint armor, all of it badly beaten, with a helmet dented so severely the side up it rose almost level with his shoulder.

Tara turned to regard him. “Yes?”

“A moment of your time, please.”

The boy was walking on eggshells. Bad sign. “Spit it out, son.”

“A few of us have concerns about what happened this morning.” The man still spoke carefully and quietly, coming closer as he did and making Tara even more annoyed. “With the apostate, ma’am.”

Of course it was about her. She resisted the urge to pull him inside the tent for a bit of privacy but something told her Bethany didn’t need to hear this. Of course, that left her out in the open where Berenice, if she wasn’t a complete idiot, could certainly overhear it.

Better to let Bethany rest undisturbed a little longer. “What concerns are those? From where I was standing, she fought as bravely as anyone.”

“No one’s arguing that, ma’am. It’s just… the Darkspawn don’t take people. Not like that.”

She did not like where this was going. Still, she lowered her own voice and spoke sympathetically. “They've been seen taking the wounded before, soldier. It’s grim, and not something many want to talk about, but it does happen. I’m sorry if this is the first you’ve seen it.”

“No, ma’am. With respect, we were all at Ostagar. We know what they do with the ones left behind.” There was a pause, after that, one Tara could not dispute. Even if it was not talked about, it was never far from any of their minds. “But this was different. They just walked up and took her. It wasn’t like the others.”

“Perhaps you missed the part where the Darkspawn set the field on fire, or tried to burn both her and me alive.”

The soldier winced. “Apologies, ma’am. We know you went out there to help and we all appreciate that. But… are you sure about her? The way she just showed up at Lothering. Some claim to have seen a dragon set them in our path. And the other mages - have you seen what she can do? Did you ever see anything like that at Ostagar?”

She had, but only from the most experienced enchanters, all of whom were either dead or had hiked their skirts and fled to their tower. Bethany was probably the most powerful mage they had left, and she was an apostate that had fallen into their lap by sheer luck. When she had said Bethany was the only reason most of them were still alive, she had been telling the truth, whether the girl chose to believe it or not.

“If you’re suggesting the Darkspawn have noticed the thing that’s killing them by the score,” Tara said quietly. “I would not be surprised. Disturbed, yes, but not surprised. We’ve never thought of them as vengeful, just as cunning and bloodthirsty. If they’re starting to remember faces, that’s not a change I’m happy about.”

“But, ma’am, it pointed at her. The one that was a mage. It pointed at her and the others went to get her. Begging your pardon, but that just isn’t right.”

Tara felt a chill in the air. “You’re certain?”

“I saw it from the hilltop. We were fighting a group of Spawn from the north. Two of us took the high ground with bows to watch for more trouble. That’s when we saw it.”

She had seen enough liars in her time to know when a man was telling the truth, or what he believed was the truth. In this case, that difference mattered both a great deal and not at all. True or not, if the wrong people caught wind of that rumor, the girl would have more than just the Templars to worry about. And if Bethany truly was being hunted by the Darkspawn, that was a terrifying thought and the girl would need to be kept as safe as possible until they figured out why. It was a shame the Grey Wardens were gone. One of them might be able to help.

Tara was hardly a student of history, but she had seen the Darkspawn picking over the battlefield at Ostagar, dragging her friends away to whatever fate awaited them. She also knew at least a little about the first Darkspawn. They had been mages from the Imperium. Maybe there was still a connection, some kind of desire for human mages. The thought did nothing to calm her nerves and was not one she would share with Bethany.

Maybe Leliana knew something about the old stories. She would sooner ask her than Mother Berenice for anything related to the Chantry. And Leliana seemed to like Bethany well enough.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” the soldier continued as Tara remained silent. “But should we have someone like that around? Some of the others, we’ve been talking. We saw what that thing was willing to do to get to her. It’s bad enough we’re fighting Darkspawn, but that thing was something else. If it wants her, if it follows us here -”

“That’s enough.” Her words were cold, quiet murder. “Did you see her do anything except kill Darkspawn?”

“I - no, ma’am. We -”

“Is your strategic advice, soldier, that we give the Darkspawn everything they point at?”

The soldier shrank back a bit. “No, ma’am. Of course not.”

“Good.” She let the anger leave, passing with her breath and leaving her cooler for its absence. “Because that would be a very foolish thing to say. From where I’m standing, the Darkspawn don’t like our new friend and it’s probably because she keeps turning them to dust or breaking their minds like old chamber pots. As long as she keeps turning Ogres into scared kittens, I’m going to keep her around. Does that satisfy you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, then you’re dismissed. Find yourself a place to sleep. It’s been a hard day.”

The soldier saluted and trudged off, looking sheepish but still unconvinced. That was going to be a problem, as if they didn’t have enough already. If the Darkspawn didn’t get them, and if they didn’t die of exposure, they would tear themselves apart on their own.

Just a few more days. They just had to make it to Redcliffe.

Finally alone, Tara decided to forsake her own advice and tempt more trouble to find her. She turned toward the parked wagons behind her and found Mother Berenice exactly where she thought she’d be, leaning against one of the frames and not even pretending to hide. Tara gave her a look that dared her to say something.

Mother Berenice just smiled. Her offer still stood, and Bethany was obviously more trouble than she was worth. There was something wrong with the girl. Let the Templars sort it out.

Tara kept her face impassive, sizing up the Revered Mother for a shallow grave as she did. She wondered how long it would take her to hit the ground if she lost her balance near the edge, perhaps in a fit of exhaustion after a long day of walking.

After a sufficiently dark moment, Tara left the reminder as a show of force, a lining up of troops to stare at each other across the killing field. She was tired, angry, and desperate, but she was also smart enough to look across the field and see which side held the high ground. Now was not the time to fight that battle. Instead, she pushed the tent flap aside and entered the shade of the command tent.

She needed to speak with Bethany.

“I told you. I told you I didn’t want you fighting.”

Mother had been saying this ever since she had seen Bethany return from the battle this morning and she had not gotten tired of it yet. It had taken most of the day for Bethany to recover her wits. Even now she still could not think of that moment without shaking. The feeling of that monster dragging her away by her hair still came over her like a shadow unless she forced herself to think of something else.

“I’m alright,” she lied. “They just knocked me over, that’s all. I got lucky.”

“Lucky? You call this lucky?” Mother put her hands behind Bethany’s head and ran her fingers across her aching scalp, prompting a sharp yelp as she tried to defend herself. There was a sizable tuft of hair missing and just thinking about it made the wound start throbbing.

Bethany, once she had managed to extricate herself from her mother’s good intentions, cupped a hand protectively over the side of her head. “They could have just killed me! Instead they knocked me over and I managed to get away, so yes, I would call it lucky.”

“You never should have been there. Where is that woman? I won’t let her take you out there again.”

That woman was outside and would probably stay there until nightfall. Tara had helped Bethany back to the column, ordered her to rest and recover, and had promptly disappeared for the rest of the day. “I have to be out there, Mother. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“And why not? Are you going to stay here and fight every Darkspawn the Blight can muster?” Mother put her hands on Bethany’s shoulders and pushed some of the loose hair from her forehead. “You’re not a soldier, Bethany. We can still get to Kirkwall. You heard your sister when she came back from Ostagar. There’s nothing left to stay for. We have to run.”

Tara might have had something to say about that. “I know, Mother. We’ll get you to Kirkwall, I promise. This is just making sure you get there safely.”

“And what about you? Do you intend to send me alone? I already lost your brother. I won’t lose my girls. I won’t leave, not without both of you. There’s no point in me going alone if I lose my children.”

“You won’t lose us, Mother.” Her hand fell away from her aching head and grasped Mother’s. “I promise. I’ll be more careful, but I have to do this.”

Her mother’s eyes watered and her lips quivered as she gripped Bethany’s hand that much tighter. Privately, Bethany wanted very badly to run screaming toward Lake Calenhad. In each moment, each step the Darkspawn took, yanking her hair and dragging her across the ground toward the one with the blood around its eyes, haunted her as surely as the pain that still lingered where it touched her. She had been helpless, just like she had been when that Templar had come for her outside Lothering. The thought of it happening again nearly broke her.

But she put on her bravest face, and Mother did the same. “Don’t know what I’ll tell your sister about all this,” she muttered. “She’s bad enough as it is. Never shying away from a fight. If the Archdemon came for her, she’d complain it was late.”

Bethany could not resist a smile even as a mild panic overtook her. “Please don’t tell her.”

“She’ll find out somehow. She always does. Keeping secrets from her was like keeping table scraps from Larius.”

Bethany smiled at that. “Maker, I miss that dog.”

“He was a good boy, wasn’t he? Kept your father in line better than I ever could.” Mother’s gaze seemed to extend into the Fade as she looked through Bethany at something only she could see. “I miss them both. Every day.”

“I know, Mother.”

“You remind me of him. He’d be so proud of you.”

Bethany felt her own lip begin to quiver. She cleared her throat and took a few breaths, wiping away whatever bit of dust that had just gotten in her eye. “I hope so.”

“I mean it. I’m not just saying it because - well, because of what happened. He used to tell me about how dangerous it was to be a mage, how even the best of them could fall prey to the demons. But then, even when you were little, he would tell me about how I shouldn’t ever worry over you. He told me that, no matter how bad things got, no matter how hopeless and frightening things seemed, you would never give in. That you were stronger than that.”

Thankfully, Mother pulled her close and embraced her, allowing her to hide the shame on her face. She had nearly given in twice since losing Carver, first when the Templar had come after her outside Lothering, then again when the Darkspawn had dragged her away.

The tent flap swished open quietly and Tara strode in. She was alone, at least, and stopped short when she saw Bethany and Mother holding each other. Bethany met her eyes, trying to read her expression as it changed from startled to embarrassed before going back to the tired, unreadable mask she always seemed to wear. She didn’t say anything, and apparently Mother had not heard her come in, giving Bethany a few more sweet moments of peace and a bit more time to compose herself.

When Mother finally pulled away, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeves, Tara cleared her throat from the entrance. Mother jumped in surprise and wheeled on her as she held out one hand in surrender.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, mistress.”

Mother seemed to be busy finding her voice again, so Bethany answered for her with what she hoped was a clever quip. “This is your tent.”

Tara’s eyes narrowed and a small smile appeared on her face. Bethany took that to mean she was hilarious. “All the same, privacy is hard to find, and it’s been a long day. How are you feeling?”

Bethany patted the side of her head and winced. “Just a little shaken up.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.” Satisfied she was allowed in her own tent, Tara continued toward the far end where a few boxes had been set down as seats. Atop one of them was another list Mother had been making this morning. Tara eyed it for a moment, one eyebrow raised as something seemed to distract her momentarily. “At least tonight promises to be a bit quieter, though I don’t expect sleep will come easily. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much more than that. You are, of course, welcome to rest here as much as you’d like until the morning.”

“When you’ll ask her to fight more of them?” Mother interrupted, her composure recovered even if she was still wiping tears from her cheeks.

Bethany winced. “Mother…”

“I hope not,” Tara answered. “I am hoping tomorrow’s departure will be free of Darkspawn. If I’m any judge, they’re more likely to wait for us farther ahead. Far easier to ambush us along the road than to come at us single file.”

That was not a pleasant thought, and it was one Bethany had been enjoying living her life without. “Are they that smart?”

“I’d rather be pleasantly surprised than bushwacked by hundreds of Darkspawn just outside Redcliffe.” Tara punctuated that horrible notion with a noncommittal shrug before turning to Mother. “Mistress Hawke, is this accurate? You’ve listed here enough alchemist’s supplies to start a shop. Are all these things intact?”

There was a brief pause as Mother, clearly reluctant to let the matter drop, bit her tongue. “Yes. They were in one of the wagons. Most of the glassware, at least. The rest came from Lothering.”

Tara shook her head in disbelief. “Do you know who has them? Their names or units or some way of finding them?”

“Of course!”

“Amazing. Go outside and find Sergeant Eleisa. Ask the guards, they’ll help you. Gather as much of it as you can in one place and we’ll set someone to work on it. The Circle mages might know something of potions or maybe we picked up an amateur alchemist in Rybrook Hill. If we can start mixing potions, we might actually be able to save a few lives.”

It was the first time Tara had looked really animated when she wasn’t fighting for her life. Mother didn’t seem very impressed, even though Bethany was watching with undisguised amusement, and took her time in looking between Tara and her daughter.

When she stayed where she was, Bethany encouraged her. “I’ll be alright, Mother. This will help everyone.”

Mother seemed to sag a bit but rounded on Tara anyway. “I don’t want her in any more danger.”

“Neither do I,” Tara said easily. “That usually means I’m in danger, too.”

Bethany amusement abruptly turned to shock. Was that a joke?

With a final look to Bethany, Mother stalked from the tent and began speaking with the soldiers outside. Tara, a smile on her face, rubbed at the bridge of her nose and managed to look even more exhausted.

“Your mother’s a miracle worker, you know that?”

Bethany nodded toward the bit of paper that had so lifted Tara’s spirits. “Are those lists that important?”

“It’s like you just saw. Not everyone came here empty handed. At Ostagar, most of us just grabbed what we could carry and ran, but some took wagons or got picked up on the road. Most of us have been too busy fighting Darkspawn to look at what we brought along. Knowing someone at the front of the column has a spare bandage in their pocket could save the life of someone at the rear. If no one knows he has it, it stays in his pocket, even if he would have given it willingly.”

Tara turned back toward Bethany who nodded. “Makes sense, I guess.”

She made a noise of understanding and looked toward the front of the tent, one hand rubbing at her chin.

“There’s no need to pretend you’re alright.”

Bethany did not need to ask what that was about. A sudden cold made her hug her sides for warmth, a gesture that made her wince as soon as she did it. She had almost forgotten about the pain in her ribs where the other Darkspawn had struck her. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re not,” Tara said, firmly but not unkindly. “What happened would have shaken anyone. Everyone out there is terrified of the Darkspawn, make no mistake. To be dragged away by them... people don’t come back from that.”

The room seemed to grow even colder. She could still hear their laughter, feel the hand grasping her hair. “I didn’t think I would,” she said quietly.

Tara seemed to soften, nodding and moving quietly to one of the crates at the edge of the tent. She lifted the lid and began looking around but Bethany was not paying attention.

“I thought that was the end. They had me. They were laughing and - and I couldn’t do anything. Even the whispers stopped.”

“Whispers?”

It was a stupid thing to say and she knew it. No one talked about it and with good reason. “The demons. All mages can hear them. They try to make promises.”

Tara had turned away from the crate, her eyes wide. “All the time?”

Bethany nodded and Tara returned to rummaging through the crate. She was probably just hiding the sudden fear that always came with people learning about magic. Suddenly, the demons were everywhere, and not just for those that could hear them. Bethany turned her back again, staring miserably at the front of the tent. “It doesn’t matter. I got away. The ones who were with me didn’t.”

The lid fell shut with a soft _clunk_ and Tara made her way back toward where Bethany was standing. “In my experience, that only makes getting away that much harder. Here.”

Something bumped her elbow and Bethany looked down to find a small bottle of wine being offered to her. She looked up at Tara, dumbfounded. “What?”

“It’s wine. People drink it. You could do with some.”

They were all fair answers and Bethany took the bottle, examining the green glass and the dark liquid sloshing within. “Where did you even find this?”

“You can thank your mother for that, too. Apparently one of the wagons we picked up outside Lothering had a few crates of the stuff. Probably looking to sell it to the soldiers at Ostagar.” She nodded toward the box. “Someone decided I needed one of the boxes. We’re saving the rest for the wounded.”

A grim thought, one that made Bethany reexamine her own need for it.

“Drink it,” Tara said sharply. “That’s an order.”

“I’m not in your army, you know.”

“No, and I imagine that’s why you’re so bad at following orders.” Tara’s tone shifted from her commanding voice to the calm one she used when she wasn’t giving orders. “Trust me. It won’t make it better, but it will take the edge off, and right now that’s the best we can do.”

Bethany gave the bottle one last look and took her first drink. She nearly spit it out the moment it touched her lips. “Holy Maker!”

She looked to Tara, wiping her mouth with one hand, and received a nonplussed stare in response.

“What? It’s strong!”

Tara snorted. “No, Bethany Hawke, you are most definitely not in the army.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bethany forced herself to take another drink, wincing as the smell of alcohol burned her nostrils. Tara just sighed. “It means that bottle will go a lot farther with you than it will for anyone else around here. Well, bottoms up. Maker knows you’ve earned it.”

Now she was not entirely sure she wanted to. If the Darkspawn came back, how was she going to fight them if she was so drunk she couldn’t stand? “And this is supposed to make me feel better about what happened?”

“Have you ever been drunk before?”

“Yes.”

Tara gestured with one hand as though that summed up the argument.

And she had a point. Bethany sighed and took another miserable drink. “Alright, alright.”

That seemed to satisfy Tara, who walked over to the edge of the tent and looked again at some of the parchment Mother had been scribbling on. She had seen those when they were riding in the wagons together. They were lists of soldiers, organized by company or by squad, where possible. The survivors from Ostagar. It did not take a general to look at those lists and know how terrible things must have been. Some squads had only a single member left alive. An entire company had disappeared and no one seemed to know what happened to it.

Thinking about it now, she wondered if she should be offering the bottle to Tara. “Why did they do it?” she blurted out.

Tara looked up. “Do what?”

“Try to take me.” Even saying it made her shiver again. “Why not just kill me?”

With a slow sigh, Tara put the parchment down and walked back to Bethany’s side. “I don’t know.”

“Have you ever seen that before?”

“Yes. Yes, we have. I didn’t want to say anything in front of your mother.” Tara took a seat beside her, staring at the floor and speaking quietly. “When we left Ostagar, all of us saw what they did to the ones left behind, the ones too hurt to fight back. They find the ones still alive and take them underground. I… all of us watched our friends get dragged off like that.”

Bethany felt her face grow hot. Of course she had seen this before. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s not something anyone likes remembering, but you deserve to know.” Tara sat up a bit straighter, turning her gaze on Bethany through a thin curtain of auburn hair. “What happened back there?”

Bethany swallowed hard. “That Darkspawn, the one that looked different, it was waiting in the woods for something. I had stayed behind because there were still mages there. I wanted to help.” Tara made a noise of exasperation but Bethany kept going. She did deserve it, after all. “I threw a fireball at them and thought that was that. The strange one survived and started throwing fire back. It was strong - really, really strong. Then it came out into the open. It saw me and pointed at me. Somehow it stopped me from doing magic. It cut me off.”

Tara grumbled at that. “Of course. I’m sorry, Bethany. I shouldn’t have left you alone out there.”

She was about to say that she had not been alone, that there had been plenty of other soldiers with her, but stopped herself when she saw their faces again. She could still smell the burnt earth. “You would have just died, too.”

“They’ve been trying for some time. Hasn’t happened yet.” Tara sat back slightly, lips drawn to a fine line and an intense look in her eyes. “I don’t want to wait around and see if they try this again. I won’t have you out there alone to draw their attention. From now on, just stay beside me, alright?”

“Because you’re never in danger,” Bethany said irritably.

“Not as much as you, apparently.”

“Of course not.” Bethany took another drink and had the sudden urge to smash the bottle on the ground. “It’s always about my magic, isn’t it? That’s why they’re after me. I’m too dangerous. It’s always the same. Even the Darkspawn believe it.”

The outburst felt childish even as she indulged it and her face immediately began burning up. Tara’s expression remained stoic, if sympathetic as she took the words in stride. “You were born in the long shadows of evil men, Bethany, but just because you were born to it does not mean you can’t step out and find the sun on your own.”

Bethany felt her flush deepen. Here she was feeling sorry for herself in the middle of a Blight. It wasn’t as though the Darkspawn were after her alone. “I’m sorry. I know it’s my burden to bear.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Tara said, smiling with a warmth Bethany did not expect. “You have a lot of people telling you that you’re cursed, that what you are is nothing but a danger. Don’t add your own voice to theirs.”

“It’s hard not to.”

“From what I can tell, what you are has saved hundreds of lives several times over, and I’m not just saying that because my life is among them. It seems to me that perhaps magic is not a curse or a gift, but a tremendous responsibility. Personally, I’d say you carry it very well.”

The words were kind, inspiring, and uplifting, which did nothing but make Bethany blush even more. This more human version of Tara was still not the one Bethany was used to seeing. “That’s like what Father used to tell me.”

“He seems a wise man,” Tara said quietly before a very uncharacteristic smirk grew on her face. “I would encourage you to listen to his words more closely than you listen to mine.”

Bethany took another drink, smiling at the thought of her father lecturing her from beyond the grave. “I tried to listen, but teaching a teenage girl about the dangers of magic is not something easily done, especially not when that girl was me.”

“Yes, you seem like such a hellraiser.”

The jab deepened the blush already brought on by the wine. “You don’t know. I could have been a menace to everyone around.” It got Tara to narrow her eyes doubtfully but that was all, so Bethany abandoned her half-baked lie. “When I say that’s what Father told me, I mean he always said it was a responsibility. I always took it as a curse or something to be afraid of, like we would go through this life plagued by demons and visions normal people couldn’t imagine. But I don’t think he ever said it like that. To him, it was always something greater about it, something we could do so much good or evil with. That was our choice to make.”

Tara was quiet as Bethany took another drink, thinking on her father’s words and wondering how many other messages she’d missed for being young and foolish. “It’s a strange thing, isn’t it, being able to change the world just by the accident of your birth? You can do so much good with what you’ve been given. Don’t let the weight of that crush you.”

Bethany took another drink from the bottle, still not quite done feeling embarrassed about her tantrum and somewhat annoyed that Tara always had something better to say than what managed to pass her own wine-soaked lips. “Do you make these things up as you go along or do you have voices in your head, too?”

“It’s something my mother used to tell me.” Tara nodded toward the tent flap and the world outside. “Now, are you going to stop trying to pick fights with every Darkspawn on the road, or do I need to wait for your mother to return to convince you?”

“That’s a low blow.”

“I’m just trying to keep her happy. I don’t think she appreciates me putting you in so much danger.”

“What ever happened to you needing me to fight?”

Tara’s face hardened just a bit at that. It wasn’t enough to mask the woman she had been drinking and sharing stories with, but it was impossible to miss. Bethany was beginning to recognize her Commander face, and the more she looked at it, the more it just looked sad. The way her jaw was set, the way her eyes lost any shine or spark of life, made her look like a woman who always had another grave to dig.

“I still need you,” she said, voice tense and resigned. “But if those things are looking for you, whatever their reasons, I won’t dangle you out on a string for them.”

So she would be facing them again tomorrow. The memory returned sharper than ever, intensely enough to make her twitch as the Darkspawn crushed her ribs and knocked her to the ground.

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Bethany. I wish there was another way.” Tara motioned toward the back of the tent where someone had set up a second bedroll. “Get as much sleep as you can. I’ll have someone bring in some food for you when they’re able to get it passed out. In the morning, we’ll do it all again.”


	9. Good Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany asks Leliana for help with the strange Darkspawn

“That is a strange tale,” Leliana admitted as she looked up toward the thin, white wisps of clouds on the horizon. The rest of the sky was a clear and perfect blue and the weather would have been perfect for sitting in the Chantry gardens. It made Bethany more homesick than she would have thought possible.

They had found themselves a bit of privacy in the column, something very difficult to achieve, by walking near one of the wagons carrying the wounded. A few soldiers walked nearby, but their heads were either on a swivel or tilted toward the ground in exhaustion. There were no refugees around, no old neighbors from Lothering, but most importantly, there were no Templars.

Leliana had managed to find Bethany before they broke camp and, surprisingly, had stolen her away from Tara for the morning. The golden-hued Chantry robes had not fared well on their journey, but Leliana herself sported little more than scrapes on her left hand and some dirt on her boots. Beside Bethany, all scuffs and bruises and battered clothing ripped by Darkspawn, she looked like a paragon of fashion.

Bethany waited patiently for her to digest the story from the previous day, offering only a quiet “You’re telling me, I lived it.”

There was something very charming about Leliana’s laughter even when it was nothing more than a small giggle. “A fair point. I had hoped you would tell me something familiar, something of the Darkspawn I could help to understand, but I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”

“That’s alright,” Bethany sighed, deflating even as she said it. “I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t just kill me.”

“Indeed. I would have been most cross with them.” Leliana paused long enough to give her a coy smile. She was, if nothing else, a bright spot in a very dark time, and Bethany was grateful for that. “The Commander was right, you know. They do take people, and those they take are never heard from again. It is a very good thing she arrived when she did.”

There was no arguing that. “At that point, I think I would have been happy to see a Templar.”

“Now you’re just speaking nonsense.”

“You’ve never been in a position like that, have you?” Bethany asked dryly.

Leliana tilted her head. “No, I suppose not. I find it better not to let them get close enough to try.”

“Believe me, that’s exactly what I was trying to do.” The little rings of chain around her stomach were dented where the Darkspawn’s blow had landed and running her hand along the misshapen metal did nothing for her nerves. “So, you’ve never heard of anything like that?”

“There are many stories about the old Blights. Most of them speak of the Archdemons and of the Grey Wardens who have slain them, or of the desolation left behind even after the horde recedes. Darkspawn mages are nothing unusual, either, but I cannot recall any taking an interest in a human mage before. We tend to think of them as destructive and almost mindless, do we not? But someone must make their weapons, their armor, their boots. It is strange to imagine Darkspawn teaching each other to forge these things or to lace up their boots.”

Bethany slumped while Leliana continued to rack her brain, talking her way through an amiable monologue. It was a much appreciated one, even if it was not the most helpful and quickly lost itself in the weeds, forgetting the original point. Just being able to tell the story to someone else made Bethany feel a little better. Here, at least, was one person who would not shun her or, worse, leave her for the Darkspawn.

Looking up toward the head of the column, Bethany could see the land slowly rising to meet the Highway once more. Somewhere up ahead was Tara, seeing to her army and looking out for the Darkspawn she was convinced were waiting for them. She had gone up ahead earlier this morning but only after making sure Leliana was there to keep an eye on her. It seemed neither of them were eager for more trouble with the Templars and, so far, the presence of a Chantry sister had warded them away well enough. That presence had made Bethany wonder about her life as an apostate many times before. She was always so afraid of the Templars, of being made Tranquil or just being caught and locked away in a tower. When you were constantly on the run from something, giving in was tempting just so you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. And, of course, the Chantry had always worn the faceless steel helm of a Templar in Bethany’s mind. When she imagined someone like Leliana watching over her in the Circle, it did not seem so bad.

“Do you think Darkspawn have parties?”

Having lost herself in her own world, Bethany was silent for a long moment, repeating the last word in the hopes that it would somehow start to make sense. “Parties?”

“Perhaps the Blight is a party for them, hm? An unpleasant thought, but now I cannot help but wonder. In Orlais, there were always parties - it was just how things were done. They were meaningless, really, all part of the grand game, but you were no one if you did not play.”

Bethany did her best to follow along but increasingly felt as though she were following an overgrown trail on a moonless night. “Are you comparing Orlesian balls to the Blight?”

“I am trying to,” Leliana answered with an easy smile. “In Orlais, these parties were - how can I say this - places to move up. They became bigger if their party was talked about. With the Blight, the Darkspawn move up quite literally but perhaps there is more.”

“So the Darkspawn get bigger caves if they have the have the biggest party?” Bethany finished with a laugh.

“They have some kind of structure. They are not mindless. The one that pointed at you - the others took its orders. It was important.”

“A Darkspawn noble?”

Leliana nodded sagely. “Presumably the markings were the latest fashion. Personally, I prefer hats.”

“What kind of hat would a Darkspawn wear?” By now every word Bethany spoke was underscored by baffled giggling.

“Now you are thinking like nobility,” Leliana said, the proud teacher of a bright pupil. “They have terrible senses of fashion. Even your Ferelden clothes are finer.”

“My - what’s wrong with my clothes?”

She shouldn’t have asked. “For starters, what is this?” Leliana poked at the chainmail wrapping Bethany’s midsection. “Obviously not there for protection. It leaves so much exposed! There are others in Lothering with a similar style, so it must be the fashion of southerners. A hard life at the edge of the word, as ready for driving away wolves as for a day at the market.”

“It doesn’t leave so much exposed,” Bethany complained quietly, tugging at her handkerchief in a vain attempt to cover her very-much-exposed chest.

Leliana hummed, unconvinced. “It does have a certain appeal. You are self-sufficient, rough around the edges, but civilized and graceful, a brilliant gem set in tarnished steel. It takes a very unique person to make something like this look flattering.”

“Are you complimenting me or insulting my clothing?” Bethany asked, now thoroughly flustered.

“A little of both, and I’ve not even started on your shoes.”

The sheer disgust in her voice was enough to make Bethany gasp in horror. “My father gave these to me! What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, when you are running from Darkspawn.”

“And what about you? Ripped-up Chantry robes and - and those!” She pointed accusingly at Leliana’s own boots.

“I know! Horrible, aren’t they?” She managed, midstep, to gesture dramatically with one foot. “Look at them. So plain. And they’re not even comfortable. They fit like sacks of flour. If I am found dead on the road, Bethany, it will be because of these shoes.”

Bethany burst into another fit of giggling. “How wretched! To survive so much only to trip over your own feet.”

“You see? Shoes are more important than you think.”

While that was not the point Bethany was arguing, she was happy enough to let it slide. She still would not be tying any ribbons on her boots anytime soon. They were comfortable and warm and kept out the mud just fine, thank you very much. She would, however, consider looking for a new shirt. Another fit of laughter bubbled up as she imagined herself wearing a knight’s breastplate on top of everything else. It would certainly protect her better than her bare skin.

Leliana remained in step beside her, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Once again, she had distracted Bethany from the worst of their troubles and filled her mind with questions regarding the sanity of all the Chantry sisters in Ferelden, and for that she was truly grateful. It had been hard to see the light when they left Lothering and the last few days had done nothing for her optimism. She had to keep reminding herself that all this was temporary. In just a few more days, they would be in Redcliffe. Then, at the first opportunity, they could slip away and make for Gwarren. If they could make it to Kirkwall, the Blight would be far behind them, and Darkspawn with strange markings would be the troubles of Tara and her kind.

She wondered what Tara would think of that.

Again she peered toward the front of the column. She had gotten used to being around Tara and knowing what was going on, at least a little, and now she found herself eager to hear the latest dispatches. Marian would be out there, and Aveline, probably carving their way through another Darkspawn ambush where the Highway met the distant hills. That was another question: would Aveline still come with them? She was still a soldier and this was still her army.

“She has been treating you well?”

Bethany started. “Who? Tara?”

“Yes, the Commander, our fearless leader,” Leliana said with a knowing smile. “That is how the rest of us know her. Not many people have gotten as close to her as you. There is Sergeant Eleisa, true, but even she seems to be kept at arm's length. A mysterious woman, our Tara, isn’t she?”

That was the truth. “There hasn’t been much time to talk, I guess, and honestly I didn’t want to give her second thoughts about keeping me around by prying. I was afraid, at first, knowing she could turn me over to the Templars at any moment, but she’s been good to me. She has no reason to be, but she is.”

“You are too hard on yourself, Bethany. She has every reason to show kindness to you.” Leliana gave her a reassuring smile that fell short of convincing her, but she did appreciate the effort. “But that is good to hear. She seems to be a good woman, if a bit troubled.”

“What do you mean?”

Leliana motioned up the road. “She hides her scars well, but some cannot be tucked away so easily, and I have seen enough in my time to know their source. She was not a soldier, but she has been hurt, many times and by many hands. Whoever she was before this, the world was not kind to her.”

It was hardly changing its tune now. Bethany again looked for Tara but of course could not find her. “I saw her outside Rybrook Hill. She’s fast - faster than my sister. The Darkspawn couldn’t hit her.”

“There are many rumors around the camp. Some believe she was once an Antivan Crow. It’s a story I rather like, as most of the others believe her to be a lost queen of another kingdom. The rest are… less flattering.”

Bethany had not heard any of that. In fact, all she had heard was that she should be careful. Marian had warned her yesterday that something was wrong and this was the second time Leliana had mentioned it. “And what do you think?” she asked, still craning her neck toward the horizon.

“I think she is brave,” Leliana answered solemnly. “She stands up for you against the Templars, no? And she stayed with you when the Darkspawn came for you. It seems to me that, whoever she is, she has taken a liking to you. Perhaps she sees something in you, something that makes her trust you. You do have that effect on people.”

The flattery went almost unnoticed as Bethany continued to wonder at that trust. Tara had been good to her, of that there was no doubt. She had brought her family together again. The Templars had accused an apostate of killing one of their own and what had been her response? To give up her bed and let that apostate in close enough to heal her wounds, alone and unprotected.

“I don’t worry for you because she will hurt you, Bethany,” Leliana continued. “I worry because of who she is, and who this Blight will make her.”

She did not need to ask what was meant by that. Those moments outside Lothering, where she had set the fields ablaze in order to save those on the Highway, still haunted her. She could still hear those screams when she closed her eyes. It had happened again outside Rybrook Hill. Tara had given the order, and they had all walked away. They had survived. Those other people had not. It was as simple as that.

No one could survive making those kinds of decisions for long. Not without help. “I think she still tries to do right. It’s just… how do you do that when you’re up against the end of the world?”

“I do not know,” Leliana admitted. “But I do not wish to see you follow her down that road.”

Bethany chuckled involuntarily. “Now you’re beginning to sound like her. What is it that worries you both so much?”

“Am I not allowed to be concerned for your wellbeing?” Leliana asked, putting on an innocent face.

“Did my time in the Lothering Chantry really endear me so much to you? I don’t remember saying much.”

“Quiet contemplation is something the cloister could have used a bit more of,” Leliana said wryly, punctuating her words by brushing some of the dirt from her shawl. “But of course I am concerned for your Tara, as well. Her position is not an enviable one. She places herself between so all of us and the Darkspawn, oftentimes very literally. I admire her for that, even as I worry what it will do to her.”

It was not the first time Bethany wished to know more about their enigmatic Commander and she was certain it would not be the last.

“And she drags you with her,” Leliana said, nudging her back before she could slip into another reverie. “So yes, I am worried for the both of you. It has me thinking, perhaps I should volunteer my own services, hm?”

The sound of armored boots tromping up behind them brought both of them around, expecting to see a group of soldiers rushing to the front of the column. What Bethany saw brought her heart up into her throat and prompted an audible gasp before the Templar, realizing how he must have looked, put one hand out in front of him.

“Apologies, ma’am, sister.” Bethany tensed and nearly bolted upon hearing the voice of Ser Aubrecht. “Mother Berenice has asked me to accompany you as we approach the Hinterlands once again and the Darkspawn once again return to the field.”

Inside the bucket helm, the afternoon sun illuminated his face, and Bethany saw for the first time a set of brown eyes, rough facial hair, and the vague features of a man likely ten or even twenty years her senior. She could make out a vague smile, as well, though when he nodded to Leliana his eyes remained fixed on her and she did not like the attention.

Leliana, showing none of Bethany’s fear, took a very polite few steps to put herself behind Bethany, forcing Ser Aubrecht to one side before putting herself between Bethany and the Templar. It was a small gesture but to Bethany it meant everything in the world.

“Ser Aubrecht,” she said as the Templar fell into step beside them. Her voice remained the cheerful, sunny one that so often greeted Bethany. “I am surprised to see you here. After your misunderstanding with the Commander’s guards, I had thought you would remain with the rest of the Order.”

The soldiers around them looked completely disinterested in anything but the road beneath their feet. If Ser Aubrecht did decide to kill her, she doubted anyone here would stop him. Leliana could hardly talk the sword out of his hand and she was the only one on her side. The small dagger she carried would be no match for the heavy armor and long years of training given each of the Chantry’s mage hunters.

Ser Aubrecht’s eyes were still riveted on Bethany. “Ah, of course. I apologize for that, Lady Hawke. Losing my comrade, Ser Bryant, along with so many at Ostagar to the Darkspawn nearly drove me to madness. The Blight weighs heavily on us all, does it not?”

“True enough,” Leliana answered before Bethany could even begin to think of a response. “Particularly those most in harm’s way.”

“Of course.” The man’s words were calm and collected but every last one sent chills down Bethany’s spine. “You have shown yourself to be brave, standing beside the Commander as you have. The Darkspawn are terrifying creatures and you have seen more than your share - probably as much as those of us at Ostagar.”

Leliana again kept her voice level and cordial. “An impressive change of heart. She would not have seen so many Darkspawn had the Commander not interfered in that misunderstanding.”

The Templar did not miss a beat but did turn his attention to Leliana for just a moment. “Very true, sister. I am sorry for how that embarrassing display ended. Once you are safely back at the Circle, things will calm down. You will find the Circle much safer than being on the road, fighting Darkspawn every morning, noon, and night.”

Of course they had not forgotten her. Of course they still wanted her to go with them once they reached Redcliffe. The Blight was hardly what she wanted to wake up to each day, and a small part of her wanted to stop running and just go quietly to the Circle, but not like this. Not with a man who had threatened her with death just two days before. She would gladly put her life in Tara’s hands and live with the fear of being completely under her control when the alternative was the same submission to a monster like this.

“Even with the Blight, you plan to return to the Tower immediately?” Leliana asked, some surprise creeping into her tone.

A very discomforting laugh escaped the metal helmet. “Of course. An apostate must be returned to the Tower for their own safety. That is our duty, and not even such feats of heroism as the Lady Hawke has demonstrated can come before that.”

“Of course.” Leliana gave Bethany a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

“Once we reach Redcliffe, it is a short journey to the Tower. Do not worry, Lady Hawke, you will not be asked to fight to earn your keep.” Those eyes now turned intense. “You will be coming with us, won’t you? The Circle could use a mage of your experience, and surely the life of an apostate is not so tempting during a Blight.”

Better to be a continent away than locked in a cage, waiting for the Darkspawn to rattle the bars. Better to be free and afraid than caged and docile.

“Yes.” Bethany forced the lie from her throat, even if it sounded unconvincing. “Of course.”

“Very good,” Ser Aubrecht murmured. Clearly he wanted to believe her. Or he knew it did not matter. Once Tara was no longer protecting her, there was nothing stopping him from forcing the issue. “You’ll find life in the Circle much easier than it was out in the Wilds even before the Blight.”

Leliana again interrupted. “Is all of our Order returning?”

“All those who survived Ostagar, yes, along with the mages we were able to keep safe during the battle.”

“I have always wanted to see the Mage’s Tower.”

Leliana made the comment in as offhanded a manner as possible but she may as well have reached out and slapped Ser Aubrecht across the face. For the first time, that familiar rage began to darken his expression, but it passed as a cloud across the sun and the calm expression returned.

“It is a beautiful sight,” he managed. “There is a lovely inn on the waterfront, should you choose to make the pilgrimage.”

“Would I not be able to see the inside? Such stories I have heard, I would love to see the truth of them.” Leliana now put her hand under Bethany’s arm and squeezed gently. “I have known Bethany since she was a girl. I would very much like to be there when she joins the Circle.”

Ser Aubrecht turned to regard Leliana a second time. “You’ve known her since she was a girl?”

“I was in hiding,” Bethany blurted. “She didn’t know I was a mage.”

The grip on her arm grew tighter not in panic but in comfort once again, squeezing gently and letting go before Leliana continued. “I knew her from her time in the cloister. She often joined us for meditation in the gardens. To be a mage you must be of a strong mind, no? I can assure you, there is no one more devoted to using her magic for the good of all the Maker’s children than Bethany.”

The Templar again leaned back. “I have seen many mages claim the same only to be made Tranquil at their Harrowing or fall prey to the temptations of Blood Magic. I have confidence Lady Hawke will pass these trials easily, but nothing is certain, and that is why the Order must be so wary of mages untrained by the Circle. Not like you, of course. You’re not like the others we have seen. Even running from us in the middle of a Blight is something we can forgive. Things are uncertain, now, and it is easy to make rash decisions in the heat of the moment.”

“I should hope so,” Leliana said easily. “She did not run from the camp but went to fight the worst of the Darkspawn.”

Aubrecht again suppressed a look of annoyance. “Yes. Truly, a heroic display. Nearly as impressive as what happened just yesterday morning. Am I to understand that the Darkspawn tried to take you alive?”

Bethany’s heart skipped a beat. Of course they had heard about it. She cleared her throat and wondered when it had grown so dry.

Aubrecht talked right over her as she hesitated. “That must have been truly terrifying. To have the Darkspawn take a special interest in you - some might think they were here for you!”

Bethany nodded, having nothing else to say and wanting badly for this all to be over. Leliana seemed to take the hint and began steering the conversation away from Bethany, talking of the glories of the Maker and the Chantry at such length that eventually Aubrecht gave up and walked in silence beside them. It was not quite what Bethany was hoping for, but it was better than being caught alone with him. She was not sure what she would have done if Leliana had not been here.

The Highway rolled on, as did the hills, and soon the two did meet. Sighs of relief from those uncomfortable with heights were joined by groans of those unhappy to be facing the Darkspawn once again. Much to Bethany’s disappointment, none sprang up beneath their feet when the three of them reached the hillside, forcing them to continue walking in wretched silence.

She had enjoyed her brief moment of humanity with Leliana. As much as she appreciated Tara and her protection, she was not exactly the friendly type no matter what Leliana said about it. The woman was as opaque as morning fog and spoke about as much when she was not giving orders. She seemed completely devoted to keeping everyone safe from the Darkspawn which, Bethany had to admit, was a very good quality for someone in charge, but such a monumental task left so little time for anything else. This was someone who had done so much for an apostate and asked for nothing in return except what the Darkspawn already demanded. As Marian would put it, all she wanted was a lot of fire and to have it pointed at the Horde.

And no one knew anything about her. Bethany lifted her head from the ground and looked for the woman who had fallen from the sky to save them from the Blight.

And found her.

Tara pushed her way through a pair of soldiers offering walking salutes a dozen paces ahead. There was no question who she was looking for. Bethany had not realized she was slouching until she felt her back straighten.

“Bethany, Leliana. Ah, and it’s you again.” Tara’s voice, all business when she was speaking normally, was as warm as midsummer compared to the way she addressed Aubrecht. “What are you doing here?”

“Protecting the Lady Hawke, of course. Mother Berenice thought our newest apostate should be kept safe from the Darkspawn you so readily put in front of her.”

The comment got the unenviable attention of every soldier within earshot. Tara looked less offended by the jab and more annoyed that her time was being wasted. Yes, Bethany decided she was much happier in Tara’s hands than in the hands of the Templars.

“Lovely,” Tara looked to Bethany. “I hate to pull you away, but I have more Darkspawn to put in front of you.”

Bethany managed a very conflicted smile. The fear of fighting the Darkspawn again was even greater than her fear of being left alone with Ser Aubrecht, but at least she was allowed to fight back against the Darkspawn. At the moment she would have gone anywhere if it meant Tara would continue shielding her.

“We should be off as well,” Leliana said quickly, stepping closer to Ser Aubrecht and further endearing herself to Bethany. “If there are Darkspawn about, your brothers will need you, no? We should see that Mother Berenice is kept safe.”

Tara agreed. “We still have a long day ahead of us. Go back and tell the Revered Mother we may be travelling overland soon. If she has anything she doesn’t desperately need, I’d advise she lose it soon.”

Leliana perked up and exchanged a look with Bethany but said nothing. Neither did Bethany, as she was too busy watching Aubrecht try to murder Tara with his eyes. For her own part, Tara just looked impatient.

“Very well.” Aubrecht turned to Leliana. “Come, sister. There will be plenty of time to catch up with Bethany on the road to the Tower.”

He turned to leave, stomping back through the heavy foot traffic that was now beginning to pay attention to the Commander’s presence. Leliana did the same but caught Bethany’s arm before she left, drawing in close with a murmured “Stay safe.”

It did not take blood magic to know that she was not talking solely about the Darkspawn. Bethany replied in kind. “You, too.”

Tara was already hurrying back up the road and Bethany had to run to catch up. Soldiers who had previously been staring at their feet and plodding along like walking corpses now looked around like they were expecting the whole of the Darkspawn horde to pop up around them.

“Are you alright?”

Bethany looked up to find Tara eyeing her and a distinctly concerned look on her face. It was so different from her usual look of exhausted determination that seeing it was still surprising. “He didn’t do anything. Just talked about going to the Tower after this is over. It’s nice, being paid this much attention even when there’s a Blight.”

Tara made a noise that might have been a laugh but with all light and levity sucked out. “Don’t be too proud about it. It does terrible things to the soul.”

“You sound like my father.” Bethany looked up and saw the slightest hint of a smile on Tara’s face. At least someone appreciated her humor. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know what to think about it. Everyone here is scared of me because of - well, you know. The thing that happened.”

“Everyone here is hanging on by a thread,” Tara said quickly, her voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I don’t need to tell you what the ones from Lothering are feeling. The lucky ones just lost their homes.”

There was truth in that. Bethany found herself at a loss for words as memories of Carver flooded her mind and the unbidden guilt kept her silent as Tara continued.

“As for the soldiers, they’re a superstitious lot on a good day, and none their days have been good of late. Most signed up to fight the Orlesians if they came back. None of us were ready for Ostagar, for losing so many friends to the Blight. They’re looking for someone to blame. They’re already afraid of magic and now with that Darkspawn following us,” Tara took a deep breath, giving Bethany an almost apologetic look. “It isn’t fair, I know. It’s nothing you did.”

“No, of course not,” Bethany said, her throat still tight as she pushed her dead brother’s face from her mind. “Just what I was born with. That’s what it always is. If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t even be here. We would never have been forced to run from the Templars. We never would have come to Lothering. If it wasn’t for me, Carver would still be alive.”

“No.” Tara stopped dead, catching Bethany by the arm and dragging her to a stop beside her. “Don’t start thinking like that. Do not blame yourself for the Chantry and the Darkspawn.”

Stunned by both the sudden halt and the sudden intensity of the words, Bethany came up short with a surprised “But -”

“I won’t hear it. An Ogre killed your brother, not you. Do not blame yourself for the actions of monsters.” Her voice had softened, now, returning to the firm but quiet tones Bethany had grown accustomed to. “I know where that path leads, Bethany, I’ve walked its length before. Trust me when I say that it will ruin you before the end. Mourn him, remember him, push yourself if you must so that it never happens again, but do not ever blame yourself for it. Do not make the same mistakes I did. You’ve too good a heart for that.”

She managed to regain her footing as Tara slowly pulled away, her own composure fully returned even if the pleading look in her eyes had not quite gone. “You only just met me and yet you’ve said that twice now.”

“Then it must be rather obvious.”

Tara’s hardened face cracked with a slight smile and Bethany found herself doing the same. “Thank you. I don’t know if I believe you, but it’s good of you to say, all the same.”

“I’ve seen what you can do with your magic, Bethany. There are hundreds of Darkspawn that agree when Ser Aubrecht and his ilk call you a destructive, uncontrollable monster. But there are just as many people here that you have brought back to life with that same gift. None of them asked you to and, between you and me, I doubt many would bother to so much as say thank you to an apostate on the lam. You didn’t do it for any reward, but because you believed in it. You’ve made your choice, and it is obvious to those who look for it.”

Tara’s smile broadened and a sort of familiarity and kindness that Bethany had never seen before peeked through. It was gone in a moment, her eye caught by something that returned her to the life-and-death struggle of the present, but Bethany had seen it clearly. Tara motioned for her to follow and began shouting at someone while Bethany trailed behind.

It was not something she had let herself think about since Father died. That had been in many of his lessons and he had tried so very hard to make sure she saw her curse as something else, something volatile but malleable, shapeable into something greater than the cudgel the world believed it was. There was both good and bad in it, life and death in equal parts. She had always tried to focus on the good. It was why she had taught herself to mend wounds more than inflicting them - Creation, Father had called it.

When Marian and Carver had gone to Ostagar, she had wanted to go with them to help the wounded. Instead, she had stayed, spending hours in the Chantry gardens, at one point sitting before a gnarled rose bush until after sunset wishing she could help. She had been so distressed that she had lost control for a moment and breathed enough life into the thing to create a single, beautiful rose.

Had the Blight not driven them all from Lothering, someone would surely have noticed and realized someone had been doing magic. As it happened, the Chantry had found her anyway, and it had not been the kind Chantry sister that told stories in the evenings.

She wondered, too, how long she had been lost in thought, looking down the Highway to find Tara an embarrassing distance in front of her. An undignified jog brought her through the ranks of murmuring refugees that now clustered together like sheep encircled by wolves. Tara looked over her shoulder, inclining her head toward Bethany and sending a pair of soldiers running toward the front of the column.

“What did you mean about going overland?” Bethany asked as she caught up.

“About a mile to the west, the Darkspawn have been building up along the Highway. They’ve been trying very hard to keep the scouts from seeing them, but the ones that come back all say the same thing.” Tara seemed to grind her teeth in frustration as she glanced to the south and the dense overgrowth of the Wilds. “They want to make us come to them. If they can slow us down for a day or even just a few hours, that might give the ones behind us enough time to catch up and that would be the end of it.”

The few wagons that remained rumbled along near the center of the column, their sides scorched by fire and their axles held in place by sheer force of will. “You mean to leave the Highway?”

“We don’t have much choice,” Tara said unhappily. “We’re just passing into the Hinterlands, now. There are many old roads here and many ancient places to seek shelter off the beaten path. Not far ahead, there is a trail that should take us to an abandoned village in the hills, and from there, we are barely two days from Redcliffe.”

The words seemed unreal. Two days. After an eternity on the road and so many nights spent believing death would find them before the dawn, the possibility of anything else sounded like insanity. Bethany found herself looking around at the weary faces of soldiers and refugees alike and wondering how they were not brighter. How could they not be filled with hope?

Hope, it seemed, came no more naturally to Tara than it did to the others. “It will be hard, and I’ve no doubt the Darkspawn will come to us when we do not spring their trap,” she continued in the same, somber tones. “But we have a better chance of defending ourselves against an attack than breaking through a fortified position.”

Bethany was hardly a military genius, but she knew enough to nod along. Attacking Darkspawn? Bad. Going around Darkspawn? Good.

She had never been one to pick fights, anyway. “So, what do you need me to do?”

Tara chuckled. “Hopefully just stand in the shade and look impressive.”

“You’re in a strangely good mood, aren’t you?”

“Must be something I ate.” Tara shrugged and pointed vaguely to the south. “We’ll be leaving the Highway soon. Aveline and your sister are already up ahead making sure we don’t run into any trouble. You and I will be finding a nice tree to sit under and watch the wagons roll by until everyone is going the right way.”

Bethany read between the lines. “You think they’ll come after us?”

“Maybe.” Tara’s voice abruptly grew concerned. “I don’t like it. I’ve never known them to set up ambushes like this. They liked to hide in the Wilds, waiting for our patrols to walk by to pick us off, but this is something else. So many Darkspawn building a roadblock and hiding in the hills doesn’t seem normal.”

That was not a comforting thought, and once again Bethany could hardly help but fill in the blanks. “You don’t think it’s… that thing again, do you?”

“I don’t know. This is my first Blight, and I never got the chance to talk with the Grey Wardens at Ostagar, so I’m hardly an expert, but I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness. I just remember what I saw at Ostagar and what we saw on the road here and I do not like what I am seeing now.” She paused, looking to Bethany and furrowing her brow. “Leliana didn’t know anything?”

Bethany shook her head. “No.”

“Great.”

The two of them shared a moment of silence, perhaps the only comfort of it being that it was shared. Bethany was not alone in this. Someone knew who she was, what she was, and was willing to stand beside her all the same, not only against the Chantry but against the Blight. If having this one person willing to protect her meant fighting the Darkspawn, then she would fight.

Soon the calls went out and traffic began to file from the Highway down one of those ancient side ramps and onto a rough, dirt track that snaked into the hills that rose and fell like waves on a stormy sea. The familiar panic followed, with children comforted by crying parents and soldiers at the ragged edge of exhaustion preparing for yet another hopeless battle.

Then the sound of horns, distant and deep, echoed from the west, and everyone waiting by the roadside grew deathly silent. The Darkspawn were coming.


	10. One Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany and Tara fight against encroaching Dakrspawn as the column is forced to leave the Highway

Bethany threw one last fireball at the Darkspawn still on the Highway, smiling as the loud boom sent them all flying. A few even tumbled off the side, falling for what felt like minutes before smashing into the ground. She hadn’t realized how high up they were all this time.

The rearguard was melting into the jagged hills and trees around her. Tara, her blade bared, kept pace beside her. “Fine throw.”

“Too bad there’s always more.”

“That’s just more practice for you, now, isn’t it?” Tara asked, chancing a smile in her direction.

Bethany raised her eyebrows. The woman clearly needed more sleep. “I’ve gotten enough of that, thank you. You can tell them all to go back underground now.”

Tara grunted. “I’ve been trying but they haven’t been returning my letters. Monstrous of them, really. Looks like more are coming, so unless you want to take it up with them personally, we should get going.”

Sure enough, more figures were moving up on the Highway. Tara had been right. They were moving in from the west. How many of them were waiting further along?

But more worrying were the figures moving along beneath the Highways supporting arches. Down on the ground with the rest of them were dozens, maybe hundreds of scuttling black shapes. Most were still far in the distance but some were close enough to be more than just shapeless blobs of grey.

The sound of shouting from the hills beside them drew Bethany’s attention. “Do you hear that?”

Tara nodded. “Sounds like some fell behind during the march.”

Bethany began moving toward the noise. It sounded like it was coming from just over the next hill.

“Leave them.” The voice was Tara’s and her tone was sharp as the steel in her hands.

It was enough to stop Bethany where she was. She pulled up short and turned to find the impassive eyes of the Commander ready to meet her own. “We can’t! The Darkspawn -”

“Are too close for us to hold up the whole column. Patrols will be here soon. That means skirmishes we can’t afford to have. That’s their game, Bethany Hawke. They slow us down with these little cuts, nipping at our heels until we fall and they can rip our throats out.”

She sheathed her sword, looking off toward the sound as the crying continued. It sounded like a small boy. Bethany found herself unable to tear her gaze away.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was more gentle than she expected, as were the words that came with it. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, but we have to go. We can’t lose any more people today. We need to get to Redcliffe.”

Slowly, painfully, Bethany forced herself to turn and follow Tara. This was how it had to be. They had to think of the army, of all the people it was protecting. They couldn’t stop for just one child.

Tara waved her soldier forward until the only creatures left behind them were Darkspawn. Up ahead, the army had disappeared somewhere in the jagged hills and tall trees of the Hinterlands. The whole country looked as uninviting and mysterious as the Wilds, something that normally would have charmed Bethany in its own way.

The soldiers that had stayed behind with them were already vanishing over small rises in the landscape. It was easy to see how a child could get lost here, even with something as noisy and hard-to-miss as the refugee column. What surprised her was that he had survived this long. Strewn all over the ground were the bodies of Darkspawn, along with the men and women who had died fighting them. Scouting bands had attacked almost as soon as they had descended from the Highway. She knew firsthand how terrifying the Darkspawn were up close. It would be so easy to panic, to run from the monsters, and to find yourself lost in the trees.

The sickening thought occurred that somewhere in this carnage was the boy’s family. She wasn’t sure which was worse, thinking of them dead or still alive, still hoping he would come back to them.

Tara was only a short distance ahead of her, but even a dozen paces was enough to lose sight of her as she scrambled down a sharp incline. Bethany hesitated beneath its lip, lingering out of sight. She could still hear the boy in the distance, screaming.

She couldn’t stand it any longer.

Slinging her staff across her back, she turned back toward the Highway and broke into a sprint.

There were few times in her life where she had run so hard and all of them had been to escape the Templars, to save her own life. Now she ran to save someone she had never even met. It was a strange thought to have while running directly into the waiting arms of the Darkspawn Horde, but it stayed with her nonetheless.

The run took longer than it should have, but she at last broke through a clump of waist-high scrub brush to find a boy, no older than five, sitting on the ground and wailing for his mother. When she skidded down the hill behind him, he looked up at her, eyes wide in terror and brimming with tears.

“It’s alright! I’m here. Are you hurt? Can you run?”

It was obvious enough even without the boy clutching his leg. Whatever had happened to him, someone had gotten him with something sharp. The blood on the grass next to him said he had crawled here. Maker, she hoped none of the bodies behind them were his parents.

She reached down on instinct, drawing on what healing magic she knew to fix the leg. The boy screamed again, pushing himself away before she could even begin. “Demon! Demon! Help me!”

Only the Darkspawn heard thim. Bethany could hear the clank and clatter of armor coming from just over the next hill and she was unwilling to hope it was some of Tara’s people.

She looked at the boy, up at the ridge that she knew would soon sprout Darkspawn, then back to him. “Never thought I’d use this again,” she muttered, pulling more magic from the Fade and panicking the child even more. “Sorry about this.”

The old trick, one she had used when Carver refused to go to sleep, came to her with some difficulty, but what might have been called muscle memory recalled the steps by rote. She recalled also, upon seeing the boy’s frame go as limp as a ragdoll, that Carver had been much larger when she had put him to sleep. The boy would probably sleep for several days if no one woke him. Whatever happened next, at least he would be senseless to it.

Scurrying forward, she spent a few precious seconds healing the open wound in his leg before hoisting him into her arms and running full-tilt back toward the army.

She knew within three steps she was never going to make it. A few short strides and already she heard the triumphant, bloodthirsty screams behind her. Animal instincts vied with one another, to see the nature of her death and to run from it as fast as she could, and she pushed herself even harder to stop herself from thinking. It had never occurred to her, during this entire, idiotic adventure, that she could just end up dead for her trouble. She was so damned stupid.

The first arrow zipped overhead, making her grateful for the rough terrain. She swore it sounded like laughter as it flew by and wondered if Tara would laugh before or after she was done lecturing her corpse. She could scarcely even hear the whispering of the demons over the blood pumping in her ears, something she did not fail to appreciate even as they promised flight and freedom in a thousand different voices.

More arrows began to hiss overhead. More terrifying, though, was the sound of claws rending the earth just behind her. The heavy breathing of a Shriek as it ran, with its demented, high-pitched whining, grew ever louder and spurred her ever harder. Her legs were moving so fast she knew it would not be long before they gave out and she fell to the ground. It was only a matter of time.

She went up the next hill, then down the other side, then up again without sight or sound of anyone but her and the Darkspawn. As she launched herself over another hill, she heard the scrabble of rocks just behind her. The Shriek had caught up. She frantically worked her arm free, calling up fire and wind to push this thing away.

An arrow got there first. An arrow going the wrong way. Bethany nearly fell over, stumbling as she watched the creature pitch to the dirt and go still. She kept going, managing to keep her feet as she looked out ahead of her.

Still in the distance, maybe a hundred yards away, was the strangest sight Bethany had seen since this all began. A woman in golden robes with a longbow and a dozen arrows jammed into the dirt beside her drew back on the string again and let fly, the arrow sailing straight for Bethany’s head. She swore it was going to hit her but, even as she stumbled to get out of the way, it seemed to hold itself aloft for just a moment too long, then fell behind her and struck something coming up on her heels. It howled in pain and she knew not to look back.

What was strange about the woman was not that she had appeared from nowhere or that she was shooting so terrifyingly well, but that those golden robes were emblazoned with the sun of the Chantry. Another arrow came up from the earth and soon came sailing over Bethany’s head. The woman seemed incapable of missing and another Darkspawn scream soon pierced the air.

Blood rushing in her ears, she barely noticed that the sound of the Darkspawn was growing more distant. She crossed a long stretch of open ground and came close enough to hear another sound above the din. Singing. The woman was singing.

The sound of her voice was what finally broke through to Bethany’s frantic mind. She knew that voice. “Leliana?!”

Leliana, red hair glowing like Andraste’s pyre, laughed and continued her song, not missing a beat, and putting another arrow so close to Bethany’s ear she swore it took some of her hair with it.

Then another figure burst over the hill, this one wielding a long, thin sword and looking absolutely furious. Tara took two long strides down the slope and passed Bethany at the bottom. “Get him back! Go!”

Bethany, expecting to be chewed out or run through, did as she was asked. She pushed herself up the slope, sleeping child in her arms, and hesitated as she reached Leliana. More soldiers, dozens of them, swarmed up the hill to follow their commander. One reached her and noticed her strange burden, holding out his arms to take the boy. Bethany happily obliged.

Now she turned, no longer helpless, and pulled the staff from her back. At the base of the hill, Tara was moving inhumanly quickly, moving around Darkspawn as though this were all some kind of choreographed dance, where only she knew all the steps and the Darkspawn were just bumbling along. Beside her, Leliana continued to sing, putting arrow after arrow down into the seething mass of black. Between the two of them, they looked like they could have taken on the whole Horde themselves, and Bethany had to shake herself from a trance as she watched Tara stand against the tide of monsters, momentarily alone and utterly invincible.

The Darkspawn tide soon surged toward the hill, and Bethany soon remembered her magic and began hurling fire and ice back into those grinning, grey faces. So many had followed her. She never would have made it without help and she quietly thanked the Maker she had come out of this alive. Leliana had saved her life. And, she was forced to admit, so had Tara. Whatever else was going on between them, despite the many faults the Commander had, she had come back, and she would not be standing here if she had not.

When it ended, Tara’s sword was dripping black and Leliana had run out of arrows. The soldiers that had come over the hill, those that were not lying in the dirt, were breathing hard as they made their way, some with a good deal of help, back toward the army.

It suddenly struck Bethany that all of this was her fault. All these people here were only fighting because of her, and every one that had died had died because of her. She rushed between them in a panic, trying in vain to heal those beyond the reach of all but the Maker. Some she was able to get back on their feet, but she had not saved them, not really, not when she had caused this in the first place.

She was still looking over the carnage when Tara, plainly exhausted, pushed her way up the hill, staggering her way over the fallen Darkspawn. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, her breathing heavy and ragged. Blood streaked her armor, weeping from a pair of deep wounds in her left arm and upper thigh. This was not how it was supposed to be. She was invincible.

“Tara, I -”

Tara’s gaze snapped up to meet Bethany’s and the words caught in her throat. She had never seen her like this. Her face was a twisted mask of rage and grief barely held in check by a tightly clenched jaw. What had stopped Bethany, though, were the tears.

Scrubbing them away with her forearm, Tara looked around one last time to see her people filing away toward the rest of the army. There were no shouted orders, no iron will exerted on her people, just silence.

She cast one last look to the dead lying on the grass, their lives snuffed out because Bethany had gone back for a child, before following the survivors. Bethany stayed, rooted in place, and watched as Tara passed close enough to brush shoulders. She did not look at her as she passed, only a choked growl escaping her throat.

“Come on. We’re done here.”

“I’m sorry. Tara, I’m sorry, I couldn’t -”

“I said we’re done,” Tara cut her off, still not stopping to look at her. “Stay here or follow me, I no longer care. I’ve had enough fighting for today.”


	11. Heartless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tara confronts Bethany over her decision to go back for the child

“What were you thinking?”

The question was posed without inflection. There was no emotion in Tara’s voice and, with her back turned, Bethany could not see the look on her face, and that was something absolutely terrifying. Instead, she stood in silence, unwilling to bring herself to answer.

“Well?” Tara asked after a long moment. “You must have been thinking something, running back to the Darkspawn on your own. Were you so eager to be at their mercy again?”

Bethany flinched. “No.”

That had been at the forefront of her mind the entire time. Overcoming that fear and saving that child should have been something to be proud of. She had been proud of it, right up until she saw the bodies at her feet.

Maker, she was so stupid.

“Then what was it?” Tara continued, still composed and oblivious to Bethany’s inner misery.

“I had to try,” she managed in a fairly steady voice. “They would have killed him.”

“They’ve killed a lot of people, the boy’s parents probably among them, and they’ll kill a lot more tonight. You can’t save them all.” Tara finally turned on Bethany, a look of pure exhaustion on her face. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“So I should have just given up? Left him to be dragged off like I was?”

“Yes.”

She said it so flatly, so coldly, that Bethany found herself wanting to back out of the tent and leave. Instead, she felt herself getting angry. “Are you so heartless that you would abandon a child because they slow you down?”

Tara’s eyes narrowed, affording Bethany the thin satisfaction of a blow well struck. “Yes, because if I do not, there will be no one left to bury him when the Darkspawn find us. Do you imagine I relish such decisions?”

“No, of course not.” She had seen too many of Tara’s private moments for that. Or, at least, she thought they had been private. Maybe she had been wrong about that, too. “But what about me? You came back for me. When that Darkspawn came after me, you helped me. Why?”

“I don’t see that child killing Ogre’s anytime soon, do you?” Tara asked dryly.

The fire in Bethany’s stomach burned hotter. “That’s all it is? I’m a mage, so you keep me around? I kill Darkspawn so I’m worth saving?”

“Yes. Right now, that’s all that matters.”

“So why come to Lothering? Why even bother saving us if you were just going to leave us behind at the first opportunity?”

Tara put out a hand to calm her and Bethany belatedly realized her voice had risen. She had not noticed but she was not sure she cared. “We came to Lothering to give you a chance. You all had a chance to survive. And we are going to save as many of you as we can.”

“So that boy had his chance? It’s that simple to you?”

“It has to be!” Tara snapped, quickly bringing her voice down before continuing. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but if we stay behind for every child, the Darkspawn will kill us all. Stopping at Lothering was a risk and it very nearly ended with all of us dying for it.”

That Bethany remembered in vivid detail; it had nearly ended with her death at the hands of a Templar. “So why do it?”

“I told you, it was to give you a chance. We weren’t just going to leave you all to the Horde.”

“But you would leave that child?”

She could practically hear Tara’s teeth grinding. This was the last defense between her and the Templars but right now she was too angry to care.

“Lothering was a village of, what, five hundred? A thousand?” Tara gestured toward the side of the tent and the encampment beyond. “We couldn’t just leave all of you to die.”

“So were there just too many for you to turn your back on? Were the numbers all that mattered?”

Bethany watched as the rage in Tara’s face began to boil over. Part of her was terrified and was screaming at her to stop. She should just hang her head and meekly apologize and hold on until Redcliffe. This was not worth it.

“That’s all that matters. Five hundred alive versus four hundred dead is a win.” Tara took a step toward Bethany, the first she had taken since starting this fight, and Bethany surprised herself by standing her ground. “That’s how we live long enough to see the end of the Blight. Maybe not you or me, but someone will be there.”

“By leaving children to die?” Bethany asked, refusing to believe she could be so wrong about someone.

“When we have to, yes.”

It was the same answer she had gotten time and time again. She should have just given up. “I don’t believe that.”

Tara scoffed. “You don’t have to. Whether you believe the truth or not, it does not change. Some lives need to be sacrificed so that others can live. The Darkspawn forced the decision on us. Whether we like it or not, they don’t seem to care.”

Bethany felt herself grasping at straws. Tara was right. “Which lives?”

“What?”

“Why am I worth more than that child? By what measure do you judge his life to be lesser than my own?”

Tara opened her mouth to speak and stopped dead. She looked as though she had been struck in the face, her eyes suddenly going glassy even as they remained fixed on Bethany. The silence that fell over the tent made Bethany realize just how loud they had been shouting just moments ago.

The swish of tent canvas drew Bethany’s gaze over her shoulder to the very uncomfortable face of a soldier who had just made his way inside.

“Commander?”

There was a pause before Tara cleared her throat and spoke. “Yes?”

“There’s a woman here that wants to see you.” He looked toward Bethany. “Says you saved her son.”

Bethany felt her face going red. She turned back to see Tara’s face and tried to read something in the expression. The anger had gone, as had the stunned look that had been there moments ago, replaced by the usual exhaustion along with something else she could not quite place.

A faint, strained smile appeared for just a moment as she nodded toward the soldier. “Show her in.”

The soldier nodded and stepped aside. Tara pointedly did not look at Bethany even as she walked up beside her to receive the new arrivals.

Shown in was a woman Bethany had seen in passing outside the Lothering Chantry. Middle aged, greying around the temples, and almost indistinguishable from every other farmer in town, this woman had only stayed in Bethany’s memory because of her husband. The man had frequented the Chantry gardens and had always been kind to her. Seeing his wife here without him was painful to say the least.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, mistress. I know you’re busy and all but - it’s you!”

The woman’s eyes fell on Bethany moments before her hands did, clasping Bethany’s and shaking them violently. Too stunned to react, Bethany just stood there, her arms flopping up and down.

“Thank you, oh praise Andraste, thank you for saving my boy. I didn’t - after his father died, he’s all I have left of him. My dear William.”

Bethany looked to Tara and got only silence and an unreadable look. Left to her own devices, she tried to at least return the handshake. “I’m so sorry. I remember William from the Chantry. He seemed a good man.”

“He was, Maker bless him. He spoke of you, you know. He always said, ‘I hope our son is as devoted as she is.’ I can’t imagine what he’d say now, knowing you’d saved him.” She looked up, eyes wide as dinner plates and brimming with tears. “And to think you’re a mage!”

It did always come back to that. She kept a smile on her face, which admittedly was not hard, but Bethany wished people would stop making a point of that. When she said nothing, the woman wrapped her in an embrace before she could object, squeezing her tightly around the chest.

“You must be one of the good ones,” she said, laughing over Bethany’s shoulder. “All those things the Chantry says, well… I just can’t thank you enough.”

One of the good ones, Bethany smiled and gently pushed the woman away. “That’s alright. It was the least I could do.”

Tara seemed to shift uncomfortably at that, looking for a moment as though Bethany had wounded her deeply. She was not sure how she should feel about that. She was still angry, but all this had done was remind her that she was still an outsider, still a danger to everyone in the camp. They would trust a well-behaved Mabari more than they would her.

Even so, as the woman pulled away, her smile still brightened the tent enough for Bethany to return it.

“Thank you, mistress,” the woman said, turning her attention back to Tara who in turn waved it away.

“It’s nothing. She was the one who put herself at risk, not me.”

That prompted another grin and gale of happy laughter. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll leave you to your work, but I had to thank you in person. When we reach Redcliffe, I promise I’ll find some way of repaying you.”

Tara just nodded and gestured toward the tent flap. The woman, looking back and forth one last time between Bethany and Tara, backed out and scurried away, vanishing into the evening sunlight and taking the last rays of joy with her.

The tent fell silent in her absence, the only sounds those of men setting camp all around them. Axes thunked heavily into the nearby trees that would soon be felled and sharpened to stakes. Shovels dug at the earth, excavating trenches and building earthworks to shield the soldiers and trap the Darkspawn in equal measure. Voices occasionally called out to one another, but all their conversations seemed to blend together until no words could be distinguished.

And Bethany stood, glancing carefully out of the corner of her eye at Tara, who also remained silent and unmoving, as unreadable as solid stone. When the silence became unbearable, Bethany offered a quiet apology.

“Tara, I -”

A raised hand cut her short. Tara said nothing, just put her hand out, not firmly but gently, and closed her eyes. It was enough to make Bethany fall silent with her, waiting for what felt like an eternity. She stared at the ground beneath her boots and said nothing, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

After what must have been minutes, if not hours, Bethany spoke up again. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for those people to die, I -”

Again, Tara raised a hand, this time saying very quietly. “Don’t.”

It was enough to get Bethany to stay silent for another few minutes. She watched as Tara began to come back to life, first closing her eyes, then bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose while she did little more than breathe.

“I’m sorry, Bethany.”

Her voice had gone so quiet Bethany hardly recognized it. “What?”

“It’s an apology,” she said with the smallest twitch of her lips. “One of many that I owe you, I think.”

Tara turned her back on Bethany and began walking to the rear of the tent, eventually seating herself on several boxes that had been stacked in the corner. Bethany found herself drifting toward her, stopping near a second stack and craning her neck to get a glimpse of her veiled expression.

“For what?”

“A great many things, but perhaps most especially not listening to you sooner.” She looked up at Bethany and offered a tired smile. “You were right. We can’t save everyone, I know that, but what are we if we don’t even try? It isn’t enough to look at a child as just a mouth to feed with arms too weak to hold a sword. It’s a life, same as yours or mine, albeit in a smaller body and hopefully with a little bit more ahead of it.”

Bethany lowered herself onto the boxes and sat across from Tara. She tried to catch a glimpse of the woman’s expression, shrouded though it was in a curtain of amber hair. “I suppose I could have just said that.”

Tara sniffed in agreement before looking up to the entrance of the tent. “I hadn’t realized how long it had been, you know? How long since I’d heard someone actually laughing. The last time was when your family was here and that was the first I’d heard since Ostagar. It’s such a rare thing, now, and I hadn’t even noticed.”

“You caught us on a good day,” Bethany said, eager to put the attention on someone besides herself. “Usually we’re insufferable. My sister, especially.”

Again, Tara laughed without sound, offering only a quick breath and the shake of her head. Bethany would take what she could get, of course. She wasn’t the funny one in the family. “They seem like fine enough people to me.”

“Easy for you to say. In a few days, you won’t have to be around them anymore.”

Seeming to lose herself in thought, Tara went quiet, playing idly with the bandage around her arm. The cloth, nothing more than strips of an old shirt that were now stained a deep red, only served to remind Bethany of how bad it had looked just a few hours ago. Without thinking, she stood and moved to kneel in front of Tara, who looked up in surprise as she was pulled away from whatever memory had so captivated her.

Bethany raised an eyebrow, nodding toward the wound. “There’s no way that’s sanitary.”

Tara’s lip curled in a smirk before she leaned back, letting Bethany begin unwrapping the wound. “What ever would I do without you?”

“Eventually, I’d say fall over.” She unwrapped the last of the dressing to find the same, nasty gash across the woman’s arm. It was still wet and the cloth tried to stick to the wound as it was pulled away, prompting an uncomfortable wince from Tara. It was enough for Bethany to add “Or you would have to pick fights with fewer Darkspawn.”

“Pots calling kettles, Bethany Hawke.”

She could hardly argue. It took her only a moment to heal the wound properly, a soft green glow enfolding the woman’s arm before fading and returning the tent to the soft orange light of late afternoon. When she was done, there was nothing left to show she had ever been hurt. She let her hands fall away, giving Tara a moment to poke at the skin and examine the new, slightly off-color skin.

“Thank you,” Bethany said as Tara rubbed at her arm. She looked up from the wound curiously, waiting for Bethany to finish. “For coming back. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”

“I’m glad I did. We’ve all lost so much these last few days. Sometimes we need to be reminded what we’re doing it all for, why we endure the hunger, the cold, the fear. To sacrifice something, you need to know what you’re protecting. If you lose sight of that, you’re just suffering.” She took on a faraway look, staring into the distance at something only she could see. “Funny. That’s the second time that’s happened.”

Bethany waited expectantly for her to finish but got only the same distant stare. “What?”

“My mother tried to teach me something like that, a long time ago. I hadn’t thought about her in so long and here you’ve brought her back to me twice in as many days.” Tara trailed off, shaking her head. “And now it seems you have me rambling over nothing. Forgive me.”

She looked up at Bethany, her eyes focusing on hers for the first time since they had started fighting. The intensity of that frigid blue never seemed to fade, but at least it was not as intimidating now as it had been when they first met, the ice no longer sending shivers down her spine when her own gaze danced across the surface.

A small part of her remembered the words Leliana had spoken so long ago, about her falling from the heavens. No one knew anything about her. This was probably the first she had spoken of her family to anyone in the army and now she was telling it to her, of all people, an apostate picked up by the roadside. She blinked herself into lucidity, thinking of how to ask more of her without prying.

She was interrupted before she got the chance to finish forming her words as Tara stood up.

“That reminds me. Can’t have you running around with nothing to protect you, not if there are Darkspawn out there looking for you.”

Bethany looked down at the dented chain covering her middle. “I think I’m alright.”

Tara ignored her, walking toward a pile of things in the corner and picking up something metallic in both hands. She hesitated a moment, seeming to regard the thing in front of her very seriously before turning back toward Bethany, a chain shirt in her hands.

“You should have this.” She strode across the tent, a chain shirt in her hands. “I think it’s about your size. Shouldn’t be too uncomfortable.”

The shirt did look like it could fit her, and when Bethany reached out to take it, she found it was far lighter than she expected. Thousands of tiny metal rings linked together gleamed in the dim light, outshining those that now hung dented and sad against her stomach and in such a way that she had seen only in passing. She turned it over in her hands, letting the light play on the rings to make patterns like flowing water.

“It’s lovely,” she admitted, feeling the cool metal between her fingers. “Wait. This isn’t steel, is it? Maker, this is silverite!”

Tara nodded. “You won’t find better outside of Denerim, and it will certainly hold up better than what you have now. Can’t have you running around during a Blight in the same clothes you wore to the market, now can we?”

Bethany was still staring at the shirt. “I can’t take this! This is - I thank you for the offer, of course, but this is too much. Surely someone else needs this more than me. Where did you even get this?”

When Tara did not answer right away, she looked up to find her smiling, and Bethany at last noticed something different about her. She was wearing her usual shirt emblazoned with the lion of Ferelden, but underneath was only more thin cloth. The armor was gone.

“I don’t believe anyone else has quite so much need of this as you.” Tara gently brought her hands forward, pushing Bethany’s against her chest and the shirt along with it.

“You can’t give me this.”

“I can, and I have,” Tara said with a smile. “Please, I insist. I’ve little need of it, and I don’t know how much protection it will lend you if things turn dire, but perhaps it will turn aside at least an arrow or two. And it will give your mother one less thing to worry about. Does that satisfy you? I suppose I could order you to wear it, though I don’t imagine you would listen.”

“I always listen.” Bethany looked from the shirt to Tara and back again. “Are you certain about this?”

“I am.”

She took her time in considering it, but eventually she gave in, managing only a surly “I suppose I’ll have to find a place to change.”

“What are you - oh.” Tara’s look became entirely too amused for Bethany’s liking. “I didn’t realize you were such a proper lady. My apologies. I will avert my gaze.”

She made a rather dramatic turn, walking toward the front of the tent and putting herself between any potential interruptions and Bethany while she changed. It was a kind gesture, but she still turned her back to Tara. A girl had to have her modesty.

It took her longer than she would have liked, undoing and unwrapping the bit of chain around her waist. When she went to take off her shirt, Tara warned her “You’ll want something between your skin and the metal. It can pinch something awful.”

She snapped her head around but found Tara still looking toward the far side of the tent, her head tilted just enough to express how bored she was. Bethany took the time to summon a bit of wind, blowing it against the back of her stupid head and watching in satisfaction as Tara’s hair went everywhere. That would give her something to do while Bethany dressed herself.

The shirt fit nicely, just as Tara had promised. It was a little baggy, as Tara was a bit broader than she was, but with her belts cinched about her waist, it did not feel much different from her normal clothes.

Tara, having not learned a thing, was nodding her head back and forth to a tune only she could hear, and Bethany resisted the urge to do something more than mess with her hair.

“Alright, you can look.” Bethany watched as Tara made a slow turn, eyeing Bethany up and down as she did. For her own part, Bethany found herself picking at the armor and feeling more than a little ridiculous.

“Not quite as flattering as what you had before, but you do it far more justice than I ever could, and it will keep you safer, besides.” Her look turned pensive, eyeing the shirt again with her head to one side. “If we could only find you a coat to go over the top, you would make quite the dashing mercenary.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m looking for work.” Bethany kept her eyes on her shirt, pretending to adjust it a bit here or there.

Tara came forward, watching as Bethany finished getting settled. When she noticed, Bethany let her arms fall and let herself be picked over. She expected to see the Commander inspecting a new recruit on the field, but instead found something familiar. Looking at her like this, so etched with softness and worry, she could have mistaken Tara for Marian. There was so much care in the way she reached forward, pulling delicately at the sleeves and adjusting it to hang just a little more comfortably, and even more in the way she cast her eyes over it one final time.

“It looks good on you,” Tara murmured at last.

“What will you do? Without this, I mean.” Bethany picked at the shirt meaningfully.

Tara just smiled. “Don’t worry about me. Too much metal makes me clumsy. Better not to get hit at all.”

“Is that something else your mother used to say?”

She had been thinking of better ways to broach the topic but, unfortunately for Bethany, that was what came out in the moment. Tara’s lip twitched in the faintest imitation of a smile but it was not the genuine sort she had shown just moments ago. This one was practiced, done to keep whatever she was really feeling hidden from the world.

“No. That is something I learned the hard way.” Tara’s eyes returned to Bethany’s, their blues sharp as glass. “It’s getting late. Your mother should be here, soon.”

Bethany watched as Tara turned away, walking across the tent to examine something by the crates. It looked like another of Mother’s lists. This one she held gingerly, running her fingers along the page before letting it settle back against the wood and turning back to Bethany.

“What should I do?” Bethany asked, abandoning all hope of learning anything about this woman. If there was anyone who could pry secrets from her lips, it was not Bethany Hawke, provincial girl from Lothering.

Tara nodded toward the tent flap. “Get some air, find some food. Your sister has the evening off, I understand. Aveline’s been running her people ragged but even they need rest. Find her about the camp, if you’d like. I’d feel better knowing you were with her than out there with the Templars. Just be back before dark. The Darkspawn know we’re here.”

Some things never changed. So little time had passed with this as the new rhythm of their lives and yet it felt so natural, so inevitable, that she struggled to imagine anything else. “Of course.”

“And Bethany,” Tara said as Bethany turned to go. “Before dark. That’s an order, and I would very much appreciate you following this one.”

Bethany had to smile at that, then turned and gave a sharp salute, fist to chest. “Yes, Commander.”

Tara’s eyebrows rose, her own smile widening as Bethany walked out into the setting sun, chased by quiet, bewildered laughter.


	12. A Polite Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tara attends Mother Berenice and informs her of her plans concerning Bethany. Bethany visits her sister and finds herself strangely welcome among the soldiers.

The Hinterlands afforded many fine campsites to those inclined to sleep out under the stars, and Tara imagined there were few more storied places in all of Ferelden to do so. Ancient ruins with vines and creepers covering their crumbling walls seemed to dot every third hilltop and half the valleys in between.

Tara left the tent not long after Bethany, emerging inside the ruined courtyard of one such abandoned place. Centuries ago, it might have been an outpost or a fort used to control the valley below. Now it housed what was left of the King’s Army and the broken remnants of half a dozen villages from the edge of the Wilds. Most of those former villagers were now underground, camping in what was left of the structure’s lower level. Hiding from the Darkspawn in a dank and unlit hole was hardly an honor to be bestowed, but at least it was safer than standing out in the cold.

Those soldiers standing in the cold were making use of the old stone walls, even if most were only about knee high. Among them were a collection of the most unpopular refugees, unwelcome below with the rest, tending small fires and looking miserable. At least they had food tonight. The closer they drew to Redcliffe, the more rams they had been able to find, and full stomachs had stopped most of the refugees’ grumbling. She had not even been visited by the Elder tonight. She should have celebrated.

That would have to wait until her business here was done, business fit to take place in a dank and unlit hole. At the top of the crumbling stone stairs she found a pair of Templars, both of whom saluted when she passed. The rest of their order, along with the mages, would be below, trying to get some rest before the Darkspawn came. And where the Templars were, Mother Berenice would surely be.

The old fort’s sepulchral depths were lit only by scattered candles with the exception of the main chamber. Here a great hearth at the far end of the hall blazed with light, providing abundant warmth that did not quite make it to the outer chambers. Dozens of eyes that shone in these alcoves followed Tara as she passed, her boots plunking and splashing through standing water as she descended further toward the flame. The silence from them was unnerving and made her feel as though she had descended into the Void itself.

And who else but Mother Berenice, the golden sun on her own robes a bit tattered, was standing nearest the glow. Years in the Chantry had dulled whatever cunning she had possessed in her past life and it took her some time before she noticed Tara’s presence. The intervening moments gave Tara unwanted moments to consider all that had transpired since their last meeting. Lack of sleep made remembering those moments hard, and a deepening sense of shame made it even harder.

Seated on a bit of stone beside the fire, Berenice finished whatever sermon she had concocted. “The Maker protects all who are worthy, my children. His light finds us even here. You may believe you are being tested beyond your means, but know that He would never put upon you a burden that He did not think you could bear.”

Tara wondered how many here had lost more than they could bear already. The Darkspawn took what they wanted, and if the Maker was weighing up what each mortal soul could handle, he was doing it nine drinks in with one eye closed.

Those around the fire shuffled away slowly, each with a varying degree of discomfort on their face, and for every one consoled by the words, there seemed to be another who was still wrestling with their doubts. Some even came away looking angry. Good for them. Had she any swords to spare, she would have started passing them out and pointing the conscripts to the front.

Tara felt some discomfort of her own, indulging in thoughts like that. Bethany would probably have had something to say to her and it would probably make her feel awful when she heard it.

As Berenice settled in, pretending not to notice her, Tara took a moment to glower at the absent mage. She had come down here to speak with Mother Berenice on her behalf. And she was trying to do better. The Darkspawn were just making it difficult. As it turned out, trying to find her humanity in the middle of a Blight was just terrible timing.

When Tara reached the center of the last landing, Berenice looked up in false surprise. “Ah, Commander. Please, come and sit a while.”

“I won’t be staying long, Revered Mother,” Tara said, adopting an equally false tone of deference and respect. “The Darkspawn will return by nightfall and they get rather upset if I’m not there to greet them in person.”

Berenice chuckled politely. “I understand. Tell me, Commander, what brings you to me tonight?”

By now, Tara had closed the distance to her and now stood a scant few paces from the woman’s side. She did a slow turn, eyeing up their surroundings, and was unsurprised to find another pair of Templars stood close enough to eavesdrop on anything above a whisper. Most of the others remained with the mages at one of the far corners of the chamber, but these two were here for the Revered Mother.

As much as she wanted Bethany to be protected, she was already missing her chain shirt. It had been a long time since she had fought men in full plate, and though she doubted she would be breaking that streak tonight, it was always better to plan for the worst and be pleasantly surprised.

“I had hoped to discuss your plans for when we reach Redcliffe. We are only a few days out, after all.”

Annoying as she was, Berenice was no fool, and her expression visibly shifted to one of great interest. “Ah, yes. A blessing from the Maker that we have made it this far and, of course, a testament to your own courage. As for my own plans, I have not made up my mind just yet. I find myself without a Chantry to call my own. I had thought to make my way to Denerim and seek guidance from the Grand Cleric there, but I would like to see the state of the Redcliffe Chantry before I leave. They will have many refugees on their hands and may require the help of a few more.”

Tara waited patiently for the other shoe to drop. “And your Templars?”

“They will no doubt return to the Circle Tower, as well. You may recall the presence of an apostate in our midst. They will do their duty and return her to the Tower, safe and unharmed.”

It always sickened her to hear a woman of the cloth lie, and this lie in particular was one that turned her stomach something awful. Turning Bethany over to these men would be as good as signing her death warrant. She would be lucky to make it to the Tower with either her mind or body intact.

“Have they much experience in bringing in apostates?”

“Some,” Berenice continued to lie, determined to make Tara lose her lunch. “They are well trained, do not fear. You may recall they brought her back once already.”

A fair point, though such a feat would likely be more difficult if Bethany knew they were coming. “The girl has proven herself time and again against the Darkspawn. Perhaps this particular apostate has no more desire to live on the run. She has, after all, cooperated with us so far, despite ample opportunities to escape.”

“Perhaps,” Berenice conceded, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “But where she would escape to is something of a mystery. All of us are trapped, Commander, regardless of our station.”

“You don’t think that she would run if she truly wanted to?”

“Of course not. After all, her family is here.” Now Mother Berenice’s smile turned predatory. “You took her mother on as a scribe, did you not? Surely that was to appease the girl, keep her from doing anything foolish on the road like trying to make a run for it. A clever move, to be sure. And I do not fault you. The Blight has a way of making other concerns seem insignificant.”

A lifetime of practice kept the pain from showing on Tara’s face, but even though her expression remained impassive, Berenice must have known she had hit close to the mark. Self-awareness was a wretched thing. “Indeed it does.”

“But you are a woman of many virtues, as I think many here would agree. You have, after all, guided us to safety through a sea of certain death.”

“And I would very much like to continue doing so,” Tara said, recovering her balance slightly. “Surely you know the Blight will not end when we reach Redcliffe.”

The strain began to show again on Berenice’s face. She did not like the rabbit twisting in her hand and grew restless waiting to snap its neck. “Of course not.”

“And, as you said, this apostate has shown incredible skill and courage in facing the Darkspawn each day.”

“I do not recall saying such a thing, only that she has nowhere to run and would be foolish to try.”

Now it was Tara’s turn to smile, imagining what she would do if she had but a few free moments with this wretched woman. “Then let me assure you that her actions have been nothing short of heroic, her bravery unquestionable, and her magic truly a wonder to behold. She has saved countless lives with it, as I’m sure you are aware.”

There was a pause as Mother Berenice dusted off her robes and rose slowly to her feet. “Think very carefully on what you say next, Commander,” she said in a coarse whisper too faint for anyone else to hear. “This apostate is not yours to keep. She belongs to the Circle and to the Chantry.”

“I will not repay all she has done by leaving her to those who have shown her nothing but hate.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Berenice took a step closer and Tara did not miss the way her hands naturally drifted toward the blade at her hip. A woman after her own heart.

Tara did not move for hers. Tired though she was, she would not need it to put Berenice on the floor. “No, but she will have one. She does not belong to you, nor will she, so long as I am here.”

The Revered Mother’s eyebrows rose slightly at that and a blind woman could not have missed the message in her eyes. “Is that so?”

“It is. If she goes to the Tower, it will be by her will, not yours, and I will personally see her to the door.”

That last was hardly true, but that was hardly the point. If she did join the Circle, it would be the one in Kirkwall, and Tara would probably be face-down in a ditch by the time she reached it anyway. As Berenice had said, the Blight had a way of making everything else seem less important.

“You have no right,” Berenice hissed.

“Do I not? Before Ostagar, I didn’t have any right to command an army, either, but here we are. The Blight is a trying time, Revered Mother. We all do what we must.”

Mother Berenice looked about ready to do just that. She jerked her head toward one of the nearby clusters of refugees. “And what do you think they will say when they learn of this? They will know you are standing in the way of the Maker’s work. It was people like her that brought the Blight down on us in the first place.”

Tara pointedly glanced toward the group before responding. She had not wanted it to come to this, but Berenice was nothing if not persistent. “And it is currently not people like her, but her, and only her, standing between them and annihilation. The people here are scared, Revered Mother, but they know which side of the skirmish line is safest.”

“You!” Berenice snarled, stepping closer until she was inches from Tara’s face. “Do not think your secrets are safe from me. You were nothing before this. All the soldiers know it. If they learn you are standing between this girl and the Chantry’s justice in a time of Blight, how far will their loyalty stretch?”

“You may find, Revered Mother, that it stretches toward whoever incinerated the last Darkspawn that was about to take off their head. Or perhaps to the girl who healed one of their friends and kept them from being left at the side of the road.” Tara, who had not moved at all during this exchange, now tilted her head forward, eyes narrowed, and laid down her last card. “And I will remind you, Berenice, that I am in command here. This is a Blight, and though I lack the Right of Conscription, I will take all the help I can get in defeating it. Bethany Hawke is under my protection so long as she chooses to remain, and should you choose to press this any further, I will consider you an agent of the enemy.”

Mother Berenice glanced sideways toward the Templars and tensed. Tara watched and waited, careful to keep an eye on the woman’s knife. She had not come this far to be disemboweled by the likes of her.

At length, the moment passed, and Mother Berenice remembered her composure. She stood, straight-backed, dusting off her robes as though the exchange itself had dirtied them, and took a few lazy steps back.

“As you wish.”

Tara remained where she was. “I am glad we have an understanding.”

“Oh, we most certainly do.” Berenice smiled broadly and turned back toward the rest of the Chantry survivors. “The words of Andraste are clear in their intent, Commander. I would encourage you to attend more sermons until you understand them fully. After all, one is never too far from the Maker’s light to be saved.”

To be convinced of something like that, Tara would have needed more sermons than she could attend in this lifetime, and not from the likes of Mother Berenice. It was almost too much to hope that she had heard the last of this. If anything was to come after, she had a feeling it would be not in the form of words, and she could only hope it was her, not Bethany, that bore the consequences.

From the moment Marian caught sight of her, Bethany knew that coming to see her had been a bad idea. Her older sister immediately frowned, narrowing her eyes and giving Bethany the same, angry look she had gotten so many times sneaking home after dark.

“What happened?” she asked, not giving Bethany the chance to even say hello. “And don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Luckily I don’t need to pretend,” Bethany retorted as she came closer, pausing near a pile of rubble that she had intended to use as a seat. Now she wasn’t certain she wanted to be staying here much longer.

Marian’s eyebrows tried to climb into her hair as she pointed angrily at Bethany’s chest. “That! Where did you get it? Why do you have it?”

Of course she had noticed the shirt. Bethany looked down, examining the brilliant links in the fading light. “I found it.”

“Did you, now? Picked it up off the ground?”

Bethany met her sister’s eyes and smiled, innocent as sunrise. “Of course.”

“Mistook it for your own shirt, more like. Were you in a hurry?”

Now Bethany folded her own arms in a lamentable imitation of her sister’s threatening posture. “You know me, I can’t dress myself without help from Mother. What are you on about?”

Marian shook her head violently, eyes going wide as saucers. “What am I - you’re wearing her shirt!”

There was a long silence, born first of embarrassment but prolonged by the very questions Bethany would use to break it. “You recognize her armor?”

“It’s silverite,” Marian said, each syllable like the thrust of a spear. “You could sell it and have enough coin to buy the Dane’s Refuge, burn it down, and rebuild it again just for fun.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Dear sister, were I to use my phenomenal imagination to picture what you had to do to get such a wondrous gift, I would tear out my eyes and run screaming through the woods in madness.”

Bethany blinked owlishly and let the words sink in. “Now that’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t.” Marian looked around and forced herself to calm down for a moment, coming forward until she was close enough to whisper. “If she made you do this, I’ll -”

“She didn’t make me do anything!” Bethany hissed, pushing angrily at her sister’s chest but only managing to move herself backward. “I can look after myself.”

“Sometimes I worry you believe the nonsense coming out of your mouth,” her sister grumbled as she put a finger under Bethany’s chin menacingly. “If she’s been taking advantage of you, I’ll make her wish the Darkspawn got her.”

“What are -”

“She has you caged! Trapped! Surrounded by Templars and Darkspawn! Of course you feel like she’s protecting you. Of course you feel grateful to her. That doesn’t mean you have to… do anything for her.”

Bethany’s head tilted of its own accord until her ears were practically level with the ground. “You do know that without her I’d likely be dead a dozen times over?” When Marian’s eyes threatened to pop from their sockets, she again swatted at her sister’s shoulder. “I didn’t do anything! And she’s never asked. She insisted I take this. Maker, after the way she looked at me this morning, this is the last thing I thought would be happening. I thought she was going to leave me for dead.”

Perhaps the only thing that could distract her older sister from Tara’s imagined predations was the opportunity to lecture Bethany on her own mistakes. “I heard about that. I can’t believe you went back. Do you have a death wish? Were you lost? Concussed? Possessed? Where do I even begin?”

Satisfied that at least she was to be harassed for very real foolishness rather than imagined lovers, she took a seat on the pile of fallen stones and watched her sister pace back and forth. She knew perfectly well how much it took to set her sister off. Normally, she would have been treated to several witty remarks about how difficult it was to put up with her and the distinct impression that she should have let the Darkspawn catch up and drag her away. It was sort of endearing, seeing her get so worked up about the idea of Tara being improper around her.

Well, improper was not the right word, but Bethany had trouble imagining her going much further than stolen looks or off-color jokes. Just as she had told Marian before, she was a prisoner, her only rights the ones Tara saw fit to grant her. It would have been all too easy for her to take advantage of that, one way or another. How easy would it have been to threaten a young apostate with the Templars, to have one stationed outside as a reminder of what would happen if she misbehaved?

Of course, any untoward acts would require her to go uninterrupted for longer than thirty seconds, so perhaps she was a deplorable lecher that was just too busy to act on her base desires.

“And what in the Maker’s name are you smiling about?”

Bethany had not really been listening to Marian’s tirade but politely put on a suitably chastened expression. “Sorry. Is this better?”

Marian stared down at her for a long while, her head tilting to the side, her eyes narrowing in on Bethany, who found the scrutiny intensely unpleasant.

Mercifully, when she at last opened her mouth to speak, someone else interrupted her. “Hawke!”

One of the nearby soldiers was waving at them, giving Marian pause and turning her attention away from her sister. “Which one?”

“I don’t care, to be honest. One of you grab your things and come with me. Aveline wants us to scout out the northern side of the fort before dark.”

Bethany waited until Marian turned back, a smug look on her face. “Go on. I’m trapped, caged, surrounded by Templars, and -”

“I get it, I get it,” her sister grumbled as she waved back to the soldier in acknowledgement. “There’s only room in the Hawke family for one comedian, sister.”

“And whatever would you do without that title?” Bethany asked as she got up from her seat.

“Become drab and boring like you, which apparently is what our dear Commander likes.” Marian gestured at her in a vaguely threatening way. “Just don’t give her the wrong idea. Wouldn’t want her following us to Kirkwall because she’s lonely.”

All Bethany could do was shake her head and wonder aloud “What is it about her that makes you so spiteful?”

And all her sister could say to justify herself was “I told you: I don’t like her.”

With that grand insight imparted on Bethany’s feeble and unready mind, Marian left to follow Aveline around the darkening woods that were almost certainly filled with Darkspawn. It gave her a moment to reflect that having a sister was sometimes a terrible thing, especially if that sister was older.

Now that she was alone again, she took a moment to be still and just look around, studying tonight’s battlefield in its peaceful state. Most of the soldiers were exhausted, sleeping where they fell until the inevitable attack came. Those chosen to stay awake sat behind their trenches, straining against the fading light to see where it would come from. They had never attacked at dusk before, but no one was willing to put any money on that holding true forever.

Strangely, she felt comfortable in the shadow of the ruined fort. The deep-grey stones, worn by rain and now covered in moss, offered a serenity she had not expected to find while running from the Blight. Things seemed peaceful here, as though the dead were not so far from the living and that passing over was not so harrowing a journey.

Or, more likely, she was delirious from lack of sleep.

A few soldiers remained awake, most clustering around small fires where they had cooked whatever meager food was to be found out here. Most seemed content to talk quietly as they watched the horizon or sit in silence and wait for night to fall.

So she was more than a little surprised when one of the groups began waving at her. At first she expected Darkspawn, reaching for her staff and readying herself for the fight they all knew to be coming, but then she realized the soldier was smiling. A woman with dark hair and a set of reddish metal armor had twisted around in her seat and was trying to flag her down, gesturing with one hand toward their fire.

“Miss - uh - apostate! You’re welcome to join us, if you’re looking for a place to rest.”

Bethany had already begun walking over but hesitated at being called Miss Apostate, something one of the other soldiers noticed. “Miss Apostate?” she heard one of the men saying. “Did you get hit in the head when I wasn’t looking?”

“What? That’s what she is!”

“It’s also not something you usually shout at someone.” Another man said. “Unless you’re one of the Templars here. Did you forget about them?”

“I know I did,” a different woman chirped. “Maybe I’d remember them better if they ever came out to kill Darkspawn with us. If Miss Apostate here wants to keep blowing up Darkspawn, she can live in or out of whatever tower she likes. And here she is! Have a seat! Push one of these idiots out of the way if you have to.”

Bethany, having never felt more out of place in her life, awkwardly stood at the edge of the fire and examined the ground in front of her. The woman who had initially spoken was now silently laughing and shoving one of her comrades aside.

“That’s unless you’ve got more important things to be doing,” one of the men said. “We just saw the Commander going down into the fort and what with you being out on your own, we figured we’d offer you a place to sit.”

“Oh,” Bethany managed to squeak out, still taken aback by the friendliness of these strangers. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“And she’s well-spoken,” the first woman said in surprise. “Nobility at the edge of the world. Well, we can’t keep calling you Miss Apostate. What’s your name?”

“Bethany.” She still wasn’t sure if giving out her family name was going to get them in trouble. An apostate’s family was just as fair a target for the Templars as the mage herself. “Bethany Hawke.”

Then again, the Templars almost certainly knew about them already, and what greater trouble could she bring down on them than the Blight? Once they were free of Ferelden, it wouldn’t matter who knew her name.

“Well, Lady Hawke, we’re glad to have met you. Take a load off and join us while we wait for death.”

The first man raised his eyebrows at that but didn’t argue. None of them did.

After a sufficient pause, it was the second woman who finally put names to everyone as Bethany made herself comfortable in the grass. “Pay no mind to them. They just want you here because they’re scared of the dark. I’m Sara. That’s Rosamund, Simon, and Owyn. Last time we met, you had me flat on my back.”

Bethany blinked. “Sorry?”

“She means you saved her life,” Rosamund said, still chortling at the abuses her friends had leveled at her.

“Not that it helps. She’s probably done that to so many of us that the faces all just blur together,” Simon added.

“I’ll bet she remembers the really dumb ones. This one tried to stop an arrow with her chest.” Rosamund helpfully leaned over and poked Sara in the shoulder, causing her to yelp. “Oh, quit complaining. Probably not even a bruise left anymore. And if that wasn’t enough, she didn’t come back to us until she’d caught a Genlock spear in her leg.”

Rosamund went in for another jab but this time Sara was ready and swatted the arm away, putting Rosamund off balance and nearly toppling her, prompting Owyn to snort loudly and begin criticising their poor dueling form. The whole show made Bethany smile in spite of herself. She had missed being around family.

“Probably just really wanted to see you,” teased Simon. “The mysterious apostate that escaped the Templars. It’s got a ring to it.”

Sara was making rude gestures at Rosamund and so forfeited her chance to defend herself. Instead, Owyn took his chance to lean in and speak to the apostate herself. “Is that really true? That you saved the Commander from an Ogre and in return she had you freed from the Templars?”

Hearing it like that, she wasn’t sure if it was. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I don’t think she can do that,” she said, trying desperately to gather her thoughts. She spoke more quickly when she noticed Owyn’s disappointment. “Tara wasn’t there with the Ogre. She was there at Lothering, when the Templars found me. The one that saw me doing magic didn’t know what I was doing. Maybe he thought I was going to hurt someone. He shouted at me and, uh, well...”

She looked up to find the four of them listening to her intently. This must have been what Leliana felt like when she told her stories, Bethany thought. It made her wish Leliana was here instead of in the old fort. She would have told the story better. She would have been able to properly describe how Tara had come out of nowhere, levering the Templar into the ground and driving him away as though nothing could be easier. It only now occurred to her that, even then, she had probably been without sleep since Ostagar. Even then she had run towards the fight, trying to save as many as she could. 

“I wouldn’t be here without her,” Bethany finished lamely.

Sara leaned forward. “So you walked out of nowhere and the Commander just took you in? That’s mad.”

“Everyone knows she’s crazy,” Rosamund added more quietly.

“Have to be, going up against the Templars.”

The way they said it made Bethany wince. She had never been out with the soldiers like this. Her own thoughts about Tara were hardly kind when they first met, but now that seemed so long ago. Everyone should have grown out of that by now, once they had spent time with her. They should have gotten to know her by now.

Only, not everyone had been given the chance. Even Bethany couldn’t say that she knew Tara very well. She didn’t even know her family name.

“But she did stand up to them?” Owyn pressed. “You said she wasn’t there with the Ogre but there was an Ogre, right?”

Bethany nodded, though even now she found it difficult to remember. Her thoughts constantly drifted back to the other one, the one that had killed Carver. The one she couldn’t stop. “Yes.”

“I remember that one! First night out of Lothering. That was a bad one. And you killed it?” Rosamund waited with wide eyes until Bethany nodded again. “Maker’s breath, what do they feed you Lothering folk?”

“What?”

“You, your sister, that Chantry girl with the red hair; you’re all insane.”

While Rosamund was busy ticking through the list, Simon had been shaking his head. “Saw the Chantry sister when the apost - sorry, Miss Hawke - went back for that kid. Never seen shooting like that in my life. And she was singing the whole time! Who does that?”

“Must be something in the water,” Sara chuckled quietly.

“I’ll say,” Owyn said, joining in the laughter. “I’m feeling quite a bit better about our chances tonight, aren’t you? We can just sit back and watch the magic.”

“You’re assuming she’s going to stick around with us ditch diggers.” Sara nodded toward the command tent. “She’s got a date with the important folks - no offense.”

Unsure of how she where the offense was supposed to be coming from, Bethany just smiled. “None taken.”

“No need to sound jealous, Sara,” Rosamund quipped, ignoring Bethany. “Just because she’s on a first name basis with the Commander.”

“Better her than me.” Again, Sara seemed to hesitate uncomfortably. “Uh, no offense. Again.”

Before Bethany could answer, Simon decided to at least offer some explanation. “You have to understand. At Ostagar, everything had gone wrong. It was the end of the world. The four of us? All of us were in different squads - Sara was from another company. Didn’t matter. We stuck together because we were the only four people alive besides the Darkspawn. Then this woman shows up, shouting and pointing her sword north. She held us all together. And no one knows a damn thing about her.”

Bethany had heard this before from Leliana and in her sister’s passing comments, but she had never been given the chance to talk to the soldiers about it. She sat up a bit straighter, leaning in a bit closer while trying not to look too eager. “Really?”

“Like a vision of Andraste,” Owyn said, soft and reverent. The looks from his companions, however, quickly changed his tone from awed to annoyed. “Oh, shove off! Don’t pretend like you weren’t thinking the same thing!”

“She did pull us out of a tough spot,” Rosamund admitted. “But I wouldn’t go that far. He’s right, though; we all lost a lot of friends. The Darkspawn just kept coming. The king was dead, no one was giving orders anymore, so when this woman shows up and starts telling us to get our act together, we figured it was better to take our chances with her than stay there and wait to die. Seems like everyone else felt the same way.”

“Until she started leaving people by the road to die,” muttered Sara.

An uncomfortable look spread over everyone’s faces, including Bethany’s. It would be impossible to forget those left to the mercies of the Darkspawn because they could not keep up with the rest.

“If we hadn’t, none of us would be here.” Owyn said it almost without emotion, but his face was clearly contorted in pain. “Someone had to give the order. Otherwise we would never have gotten out of Lothering. The Horde would have been there and we would have died. Simple as that.”

“Still ain’t human,” Sara continued grumbling.

“No, it isn’t.” Owyn did not elaborate but he hardly needed to. They all knew what was chasing them.

“You’ve probably said the most words to her out of any of us,” Rosamund chimed in after a moment of silence. “None of us even knew her name. And the way she stuck her neck out for you, half the Templars were spreading rumors it was blood magic.”

Bethany felt her face redden at that. She hadn’t considered how strange it must have looked for everyone else. Maker, it felt strange enough for her. To have someone like Tara personally go against the Templars, keep her by her side day and night, and run back into the jaws of the Horde when she went missing was not something Bethany had ever experienced before. Knowing that Tara had hardly said two words to anyone else just made it all the stranger.

“How does -” Simon cut himself off and looked sheepishly to the others. “I don’t know if it’s strange to ask. I’ve just never met a mage before.”

The others rolled their eyes at him. Perhaps it comforted him when Bethany was just as uncomfortable in saying “I’ve never had anyone ask about it. No one but family, anyway.”

“Seems rude to me,” Rosamund said dismissively.

“No, it’s alright.” Bethany turned back to Simon with a smile. “What did you want to know?”

Simon again looked to the others before speaking. “Well, none of us know how magic works. How does blood magic work?”

What a question to lead with. Bethany found herself laughing in surprise, something that did little to boost Simon’s confidence. “Sorry. It’s just that you’re asking the wrong person. I’ve never done it. I think we all can, it’s just… it’s dangerous. Stupid.”

“Even if you use someone else’s blood?” Rosamund quipped, still trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Bethany nodded. “Yes. That’s what I was told, anyway. Demons don’t much care whose blood you offer. They want you.”

“Demons.” Owyn had leaned forward again, eyes wide. “Is it true that you can see them? Are there any here with us?”

She had a strong urge to say yes and see what he would do, but Bethany was not the nuisance her sister was. And it occurred to her that maybe if she explained how magic worked to them, they would not be so afraid of her.

“Not see them, really, but we do hear them. They talk to us, especially when we dream.”

She went on to explain, in broad strokes, what she knew about magic from her father. The soldiers all listened well and even Rosamund began looking more interested than afraid. After a few minutes, they all began wearing strangely childish expressions, with big grins and eager eyes, like they were all talking about some big secret. Perhaps that’s what it was to them.

Bethany found it difficult to be completely open with them, but hiding everything about herself proved a difficult habit to break. Harder, still, was convincing them that she was nothing to be afraid of when they already talked about her like she was a destructive force powerful enough to rival the Blight.

As the night went on and her sermon was mercifully overcome by the soldiers ribbing one another about how scared they were of magic, she was saved by the reappearance of Tara near the abandoned fort. She had nearly missed her, only turning when someone called for her by rank. Tara looked to be leaning against one of the broken columns, shaded by the setting sun and very easy to overlook. Had she been watching her? How long had she been there?

It was when another voice intruded that Bethany realized how dark it had gotten. “Alright, you lot, on your feet. You’re on first watch, southern perimeter. Get your - oh, my apologies, miss. Did you need them for something?”

Bethany looked up to find a woman almost as young as she was looming over their little group. When she looked back, Tara was already gone. “No,” she said after a moment. “No, that’s alright. I need to be going, anyway.”

That prompted several groans from her new friends. Sara again seemed to take charge as they got to their feet. “You heard her, storytime’s over. I’m certain we’ll all get to see Lady Hawke again later tonight.”

The rest of the group stood to leave. It was just as well, she thought, looking at the sky and realizing it was almost dark. She almost wanted to stay out until the sun went down fully just to continue her streak of willful disobedience.

She thought better of it eventually, making her way back to the tent to see where the night would take them. It only now occurred to her that she should have stayed here and gotten some rest. A few hours of sleep sounded nothing short of heavenly. There had been so few opportunities to truly find rest on their march, and she had just passed one up for her sister. And not just for her sister, so her sister could yell at her and pretend like she was some helpless girl being taken advantage of.

The chain shirt felt a bit heavier than she was used to but just looking at the links made her feel safer. Tara had said it wouldn’t stop much more than a few arrows, but it had gotten her through Ostagar, Lothering, and everything else that had been thrown at her. It was easy to forget that, through everything Bethany had suffered, Tara had almost always been there, fighting the Darkspawn while everyone else ran away.

She stopped outside the tent to adjust the way it hung about her shoulders, nodding to the guards near the entrance as she did.

“I just miss him, you know?” Mother’s voice carried through the canvas, soft and plainly choked with tears. There was no question who she was talking about. Bethany made to rush for the tent flaps, not wanting her to go through this pain alone.

“I understand, mistress, more than I wish I did.”

Tara’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She froze in place, listening with one ear cocked toward the tent and ignoring the looks the guards gave her. This was her mother and she was just making sure she was alright. That was all.

“Have you lost someone, Commander? I’m sorry, Tara.”

“It’s alright,” Tara answered with a quiet laugh. She sounded so sincere. How had she never heard them speaking this way before? “You can call me what you’d like, mistress, as far as I’m concerned. You’ve more than earned that right. But yes, I have lost family.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I lost myself when it happened, fell to things that could have killed me in the hope that one day they would and I wouldn’t have to live with the memories any longer. I don’t know what the right way is to grieve or how best to remember someone you love so much, but -”

“Hey,” one of the soldiers near the tent called toward Bethany as she lingered and she missed whatever Tara said next. “What are you doing over there?”

Bethany stood, angry that she was missing whatever was happening as she walked to the front of the tent. “Nothing. Just adjusting my armor. Is that a problem?”

“Looked like you were doing more than that,” the soldier grumbled suspiciously.

His companion rolled her eyes and gestured toward the tent. She had not seen her loitering and obviously did not care enough to ask. “Don’t hassle the mage, recruit. Head on in, ma’am. She’s expecting you.”

With a nod, Bethany pushed her way inside to find her mother already on her way out. Tara stood near the center of the tent, a sad smile on her face that she quickly hid as Bethany arrived.

“Mother, where are you going? Have you been crying?”

Mother sighed and came forward enough to hug her, the embrace lasting longer than she expected. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Bethany looked to Tara for an explanation but found only the Commander, her face impassive as she pretended to read one of Mother’s lists. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear about you charging after that boy.” Mother wiped away a tear as she released Bethany from her embrace. “Tara refused to tell me about it but it’s all anyone is talking about. I - I know you feel the need to take all this on yourself, but please be careful. And it is good to know there are people here who will go with you when you insist on taking risks like that. Good people that care about you.”

Tara surely heard but was still pretending to read her bit of parchment. She was still in a state of disbelief when Mother turned to Tara, smiled, and got a warm smile in return. She had only been gone a few hours, hadn’t she?

Without further explanation, her mother took the opportunity to move past her and out the tent. “I’ll be back soon. Eleisa asked me to spend some time with some of her people. They’re down in the old fort, so I’ll be safe, don’t worry.”

Bethany watched her leave and could not for the life of her think of anything to say in response. At the far side of the tent, Tara had adopted a look of fond amusement but did not elaborate further. Instead, she tossed the bit of parchment down on the stone and turned to Bethany. “I’m surprised to see you back. There’s still time to go out and carrouse if you’re feeling disobedient.”

She smiled at the jab but was too preoccupied with other thoughts to properly reply. “I recall you telling me that I’m not in your army. Every order of yours I follow is a favor, the way I see it.” She watched Tara shake her head, a tired smile forming on her lips, and did her best to order her thoughts in the moment it afforded her. “I heard you talking to Mother outside. You were talking to her about Carver?”

Tara seemed to shy away from that as though ashamed, which Bethany did not quite understand. “We were. Your mother had mentioned him a few times, both his life and what happened outside Lothering. I am sorry for your loss. I don’t know if I told you that already.”

Bethany smiled. She had, though she had not entirely believed it at the time. Even just earlier today, she might have still held doubts about her sincerity, but the last few hours had been very strange indeed.

“She heard about what happened on the road and was not entirely pleased with how I handled things. I should have kept a closer eye on you, prevented you from risking your life again or at least gone with you in the attempt.” Tara smiled ruefully. “She was not happy.”

The thought of her mother chewing out the commander of the King’s Army, a woman to whom thousands of soldiers answered and had been holding off the Blight since Ostagar, was enough to make her feel lightheaded. “Oh, Maker. What did she do?”

But, by His grace, Tara actually laughed. “She did what any good mother would do in her place. It’s hard for her, I know. She was just in a panic and when she calmed, I told her what had happened. We talked about Carver, too. I like to think it helped, but Maker knows I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”

What she wouldn’t have given to have been a fly on the wall during that conversation. “What did she say?”

“That she misses him. That she blames herself for his death. That if she were to lose you or Marian, that would be the end of her.” Tara folded her arms, her tone going serious and her eyes flaring with sudden intensity. “I know what you did was right, saving that boy, but if you get yourself killed tonight trying to fight another Ogre on your own, rest assured I will not survive you long. Even if I manage to live out the night, your mother would send me after you in a hurry, demanding I bring you back.”

Still reeling from the gaze, Bethany could only sputter “I won’t! No more Ogres.”

“No more Ogres,” Tara repeated. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say since we met.”

It might have offended Bethany more if she did not hold the same opinion. In truth, thinking about the times she had fought them, when Carver died and the first night outside of Lothering, made her wonder if she should not be dead already. She had no intention of trying to kill her third tonight.

“If there’s one thing I can do for that woman, it will be making sure you and your sister reach Redcliffe in one piece,” Tara continued. “After all you and your family have done, I won’t let that be repaid with even more grief. Not while I have strength left.”

The promise was made so casually that Bethany found herself waiting for a hard look or a suitably dramatic gesture to give it the proper weight. But Tara seemed to think it was not worth the effort, the words so easy they could fit between comments on the weather. Bethany took a few steps closer, trying to be casual as she watched Tara look over what appeared to be a charcoal sketch of the hilltop. There was always something more for her to do, always some other life that needed saving. She never stopped looking out for them.

“Can I ask you something?” Bethany waited until Tara gave her a curious tilt of her head. “Why did you have my mother make all those lists? Surely there were others who could have done the work.”

Again, Tara almost looked embarrassed. “In part it was to keep her safe. She had just lost her son. I thought maybe if I gave her something to do, some way to help and make things better, it might help. I don’t know, it seemed a good idea at the time. I told you I’m not very good at this.”

“That’s generous of you, and I thank you for that, but I wasn’t asking about that, really. I ask because you told me this morning not to blame myself for Carver,” Bethany said quietly, meeting Tara’s eyes. “You said you had known that kind of grief.”

She could see Tara’s throat working as she swallowed uncomfortably, the exhaustion as it seemed to close in around her eyes, sharpening the lines around them and deepening the bags beneath. “I have. I don’t know if counting elfroot sprigs would have helped me very much, but it was all I could think to give her. Maybe if she saw that her work was saving others like her son, she might find a reason to keep the grief at bay. Stupid thing to do, really. She deserved better.”

“It isn’t stupid.” Bethany heard the words leaving her before she knew she was speaking.

Tara smiled, the tension in her easing just a little. “You’re too kind. Even if it was small, I hope it helped her. What she truly needs is something only you and your sister can give. She needs time, and more than that she needs her family.”

She seemed to recover a bit of herself as she finished, her gaze growing more firm if not quite as intense as it usually was. Bethany nodded mutely, wishing she could find the words to ask about Tara’s own grief. She wanted so badly to know what was going on in that head. She wanted even more to find the right words to thank her for taking care of Mother, for caring enough to try and pull her from her depression even in the middle of a Blight.

Yet even though Bethany considered herself well-spoken, words had never been her strongest suit. She felt her tongue tie itself in knots as Tara composed herself, the moment passing before she could stop it. Tara regained her balance, squaring her shoulders and forcing her exhaustion back as though her face was just another battlefield.

“I want you close to me tonight. The Darkspawn know we’re here and I’m not willing to believe they’ve forgotten you so quickly.” She turned to Bethany, apparently unaware of the mild panic her words had just caused. “They know as well as we do that this is almost over. If that thing comes back, if they come after you tonight, you will not be alone.”

Her mouth went dry at the memory of the Darkspawn mage and of the fire it had summoned. She remembered being helpless without her magic. She remembered the soldiers that had died defending her.

“Thank you.”

Tara offered her a thin smile before her duty called her away. Scouts returned with their reports and before long the two of them were walking along the trenches, peering into the dark along with all the rest. This time, they had the high ground. This time, they were ready. If that thing returned tonight, it would not find her as helpless as it had before.

And if it tried to kill Tara, she would show it just how dangerous magic could be.


	13. A Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany spends the night on patrol with Tara and sees haunting shapes in the dark. Tara is approached by a Templar.

The Darkspawn were never late. Early, sometimes, attacking even before the sun had dipped below the horizon, creeping into camp with the lengthening shadows of the trees, but they had never missed a chance to sew chaos and terror in the column.

They were late tonight, and Bethany found she did not like it. From what she could tell, it was just after midnight, which meant there had been a good five or six hours that had not been filled with fire and screaming. There were still owls hooting, small game scuttling through the brush beyond the light of the furthest torches, and the chorus of insectile whines that would have once made the night almost hypnotically peaceful. It wasn’t right.

“Where are they?” Tara muttered from beside her. They had been taking turns asking the question, so that meant it was her turn to stay silent and make unhappy noises.

She did not give voice to the impossible hope that they would be left alone tonight.

“They were right behind us,” Tara continued to grumble as she folded her arms and squinted at the distant trees. “They have to know we’re here. They know Redcliffe is two days from here. So why leave us alone?”

Two days. It seemed unreal that they were so close, that this might actually come to an end. “Are they waiting for us? Trying to go around, catch us on the road?”

“Maybe. It’s not a risk I would take. Too many old roads to take in the Hinterlands, too many places to get lost.” Tara paused long enough to draw Bethany’s attention, stifling a massive yawn with one hand before finally continuing. “Who knows. Maybe Eamon’s army is in one of these old forts and we’re already free and clear.”

Bethany’s eyebrows, already raised from the yawn, climbed even further. “We can only hope. Are you alright?”

“Of course. Why -” Tara paused to yawn again, her jaw all but coming unhinged as she did. “Maker’s breath, if they keep us waiting any longer, I might fall asleep.”

“You should try it sometime,” Bethany said flatly, still unwilling to fully chastise the woman protecting her from the Templars. “And tonight’s as good a time as any. Everyone knows their place tonight. You should rest a few hours, at least. Let us take care of things. You don’t need to be here all the time.”

Tara had been shaking her head for most of it, though that may have been to ward off sleep at this point. “I’d love to take you up on that, but no, I need to be here.”

She was still getting used to arguing with Tara, so she did not press the point as hard as she might have with her sister, but she did wish the woman would slow down every once in a while. It was inconvenient, honestly, not being close with her. If it had been Marian, she would have just called her an idiot and berated her until she finally gave in. Carver had been even easier to deal with, and that method had already proven effective on reluctant children today.

Smirking in spite of the danger, both from the Darkspawn and from calling Tara a child to her face, she turned to see Tara biting her lip and forcing her own eyes wide. Bethany rolled her eyes and stifled a small laugh. “You’re going to fall down, one of these days, and what good will you be then?”

“Ah, but I’ve already thought of that.” Tara turned and gave Bethany a wink. “My stalwart mage companion will have me back on my feet in no time, won’t she?”

“Perhaps I should let the Templars take me away, after all,” Bethany quipped, trying to grumble unhappily but not faking it very well. “That will teach you to try and fight the whole Blight yourself.”

Tara gave her a peeved look but Bethany recognized the slight twitch of her lips that was an exhausted smile. She really did need to sleep soon. How she had kept going this long was beyond Bethany. Unless she was just waiting until Bethany went to sleep to pass out on the ground and waking just in time to look busy when she opened her eyes again. She was always going, always looking after someone, making sure someone else had what they needed.

“Your stalwart mage has a point, you know” The familiar Orlesian accent caught Bethany by surprise, though Tara seemed to have been expecting the interruption.

“You’re out late, sister,” Tara said, turning to greet Leliana as she picked her way over the turned earth to meet them. “I hope you aren’t here for me.”

“What a hurtful thing to say, Commander.” Leliana put a hand on her chest in mock offense, still smiling brightly enough to shame the stars. “I am indeed here for you, though perhaps not for the reason you are thinking. Unless you disapprove of the time I’ve spent with Bethany?”

“No. I heard about what you did with Ser Aubrecht. I appreciate you stepping in the way you did.”

Bethany had not told her the full story of that encounter; there hadn’t been time. Who else had seen that? Did she have someone checking in on her?

Leliana nodded graciously, coming to a stop beside Bethany and giving her another warm smile. “I don’t know what you are talking about. After all, I merely kept our dear friend company on the road this morning. I would never stand between a righteous Templar and his duty.”

Righteous was emphasized just enough to draw attention but it made Bethany wonder if she really meant it. She had set out from Lothering believing that everyone, Tara and Leliana included, would sell her to the Circle as soon as she became inconvenient. But they had done so much for her, even though it would have been so much easier not to. If a nice Templar came along and asked Bethany to leave, what would they do then? It was hard to imagine them just giving her up.

“I’ve yet to see one of those,” Tara said with a smirk. “So you’re here taking in the sights? Enjoying a walk in the moonlight?”

“There are few enough opportunities in a Blight, it would seem. Can you blame me for seizing upon one when it is presented?”

Tara, in the most appropriate possible response, yawned.

Leliana then turned her attention on Bethany. “Perhaps I spoke in haste. I might not be here for you at all, Commander. Bethany is so much more pleasant to speak with, after all.”

She rolled her eyes, as did Tara, but did so playfully. It was good having her around and not just because she kept the Templars away. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk about the future, what will happen when all of this is over and we are safe in Redcliffe. The three of us, we know it does not end here. We know the Blight goes on. I do not imagine you will be staying in Ferelden, Bethany, though I will not force you to speak of it aloud. Keep your destination a secret, make it harder for those who would bring you harm to find you.” Leliana turned to Tara who was no longer yawning. “But I think you will be staying. Am I wrong?”

For a moment, Bethany wanted her to say yes, even if it was so hard to imagine Tara doing anything else but this. Tara inclined her head, eyes flitting to the nearest trench full of soldiers. “They’ll still be here, won’t they? So long as they will have me, I will be here.”

“Noble words,” Leliana said quietly. “Then it is true. You intend to stop the Blight, to do what the Grey Wardens cannot now that they are gone?”

“No one said that.” Tara put out a placating hand, an almost nervous smile growing on her lips. Nervous, of course, was the wrong word for Tara, but that was what it seemed to be. “All I said was I will stay with these soldiers until they’ve no more need of me. They were left out in the cold at Ostagar. I won’t abandon them a second time. Make no mistake, Sister, I know this is just the first battle in a very long war, but I cannot afford to think beyond Redcliffe at the moment. I doubt many of your fellow refugees are thinking far beyond their own feet at the moment.”

“You underestimate them, Commander. They see the obvious.”

“And that is?”

Leliana gestured toward the serene forest and the unsettling lack of horrible monsters spilling from its silent maw. Bethany looked at Leliana and got another in an endless line of warm smiles. If nothing else, she could lift Bethany’s heart with a look, and that was more comforting than she could say.

Tara kept her eyes on the darkness for a long moment and Leliana waited while she did. “They aren’t gone.”

“Of course not. But they are not here. For the first night since they left their homes, or since Ostagar for you and your soldiers, there are no monsters at the walls, no demons haunting their sleep and keeping them from rest. They have seen, too, where you have brought them. They may not sleep well tonight, but even without sleep, they can add two and two together.”

When she spelled it out so plainly, Bethany felt a bit of hope creep into her heart, her unwilling soul unbarring a door she had sealed in Lothering. She had not allowed herself to hope, to imagine a life beyond the Darkspawn, not after Carver. Not after that witch had dropped them right back in the path of the Horde and she had been made to kill those people.

She watched Tara continue to stare into the dark. So much weighed down upon those shoulders. She could still hear her shouting at her outside Lothering, ordering her to kill those people. Had she done that to save an apostate the pain of making the choice? Had the order come to take the responsibility from her?

Thinking on it now, she was fairly certain Tara had told her as much before, it was just that she had not believed her at the time.

“And so perhaps a few of them are thinking beyond the next step in an endless march, now that it is no longer endless. They know Redcliffe is close.”

Tara continued to frown. “Two days is an eternity fighting Darkspawn.”

Two days. It seemed unreal to have it said so casually, that this new life she had come to know would end in just two days. Of course, they would be off again as soon as it was done, off to Gwarren and to Kirkwall beyond the sea, but they would no longer be hounded day and night by Darkspawn. If they were to hop from one crisis to the next, it was comforting to know that at least the next one was probably not as bad as the Blight.

She refused to say such a thing out loud, however, knowing that doing so would only invite the Maker to prove her wrong. “Is it really so close?”

Leliana smiled. “You see, even she cannot believe it, and she is as responsible as anyone for making it so. But tomorrow, you will see. The people will begin to understand, begin to see the landmarks, the old forts, perhaps an old road sign. You will hear it then, I think, and perhaps it will sink in for you, too.”

It was a comforting thought, one Bethany was somewhat uncomfortable nurturing, given how the last week of her life had been. She lost herself, staring off into the distance and wondering what awaited her beyond the sea, while Tara continued to speak with Leliana. They had barely even considered it when fleeing Lothering, having only a few moments to decide where to go before the Darkspawn came howling up behind them. Maybe Kirkwall was not the best place to go. Maybe they should stay in Redcliffe.

“So you’re here to lighten the mood for us, Sister? I can’t say I don’t appreciate it, but I am a bit surprised.”

“I do what I can,” Leliana said with a small bow. “And please, call me Leliana. If we are meant to be travelling together, I would rather be on the basis of first names, Commander.”

“Tara.” Lack of sleep apparently took its toll on polite introductions and Bethany shook herself free of her thoughts long enough to glare at her until she almost sheepishly apologized. “Sorry. I haven't gotten much practice being sociable lately, as Bethany will certainly agree. If I had, I might be able to more politely ask what you mean when you say we will be travelling together. Are you trying to change your Chanter’s robes for a suit of armor?”

“No, though if you have any more of those I will happily take one off your hands.” Leliana gestured pointedly toward the silverite chain Bethany now wore.

Tara sniffed. “Sorry, fresh out.”

“I suppose we can’t all be so lucky. Well, then I will make do with my robes and leathers. Perhaps in Redcliffe there will be a chance to do some shopping.”

Bethany already knew she would find Leliana looking at her shoes rather than her battered armor and could not resist laughing. The sound, amidst all the darkness and tension, sounded strange even to her own ears, and a few of the soldiers nearby cast a curious look at her. “We all have our reasons for waking up in the morning.”

“And I will happily defend mine! But I do not intend to travel with you for that sole purpose.” The pun, when it landed, caused Bethany to groan loudly and Leliana to glow with pride. “You have led an army against the Blight. You have fought more Darkspawn in a week than most hear tales of all their lives. For many, this would be enough - too much, even - for a lifetime, but not for you. You wish to stop the Blight.”

“I’ve mostly led my army away from the Blight,” Tara protested, sounding vaguely annoyed that anyone would compliment her heroics. “And I don’t recall saying I had planned to continue my tenure as an officer. It’s not like I’ve had a particularly storied run.”

“There’s no need to say it, it is clear to anyone with the mind to look, and I think this battle, this long retreat will be one of the most storied of our age. Against impossible odds, the beleaguered hero struggles to save her people. It is a very compelling tale, one I would very much like to see the end of.”

Tara folded her arms and continued to look offended. “Then I invite you to continue singing songs and shooting Darkspawn. There are certainly more than enough in need of a few arrows.”

“I shall, and I intend to do it at your side. If you stand against the Blight, I will stand with you, no matter what you face.”

For the briefest moment, Tara’s expression fell to one Bethany nearly missed. She looked grieved, if not heartbroken, as though already seeing Leliana lying dead beside her. The look was gone as quickly as it had come, but she was getting better at picking up on Tara’s cues, and surely the woman’s exhaustion was lowering her guard as the days wore on.

“I would not ask you to do that for me, though I thank you for the offer,” Tara answered, her voice quiet and kind. “You’re a brave woman, Leliana. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said to me this morning when Bethany ran off. I would, of course, be lucky to have you with me, but I would ask you to think it over. You’ve seen what we’re up against. Do you think that, the next time there is an Ostagar, we will have any better luck than we had this time?”

Bethany felt like grabbing Tara by the collar and shaking her until she realized how much she had done for everyone here, but Leliana was better with words than she was. “I do not think we will succeed, I know it. Even if I had not seen all the things you’ve done to protect your people, I know the Maker smiles on us. He has given me this task, you see, and I know it is you He wanted me to find.”

There were many kinds of silences with which Bethany was familiar, but this one was entirely new. Both she and Tara stared at Leliana, sunny and confident and smiling in a way that suggested how insane it was to suggest she was here because of divine intervention. Tara let out a long breath, leaving Bethany to fill the silence.

“The Maker told you to come here?”

Leliana broke out in a broad grin. “I know. Insane, isn’t it? But I know a sign when it is sent.”

More silence followed, this time broken by Tara. “And what was this sign?”

“Just before the Horde came to Lothering, I was visited by a terrible dream. It was the night of Ostagar, if I am not mistaken. I saw a terrible darkness engulf the land. From the top of the highest peak, I watched it crash around me, swallowing up everything it touched, until the world was nothing but shadow. I loosed arrow after arrow into it, but alone I could do nothing, and in the end, the darkness drew me in. When I woke, I went to the Chantry gardens, seeking solace and meaning in such a terrible portent. When I arrived, I fell to my knees in prayer, and when I lifted my head, I saw the rose bush in the corner had bloomed a single, perfect rose. Everyone knew that bush was dead - it was the most gnarled, horrible thing you’d ever seen - but there it was.”

As Leliana looked between them, Bethany had to wonder how much of the world hinged on such events. She could have said something, told Leliana the truth about the rose, but she dared not open her mouth now, not after such a thing had been attributed to the Maker himself, and certainly not if this meant Leliana would be looking after Tara when she left Redcliffe. It would probably not even make a difference. Leliana had been looking for a sign, after all, and maybe the Maker had nudged Bethany’s hand in making the flower bloom.

And now she was considering herself an agent of the Maker’s will. Who needed demons of pride when delusion was so tempting on its own?

Bethany looked off into the dark once more, avoiding what had now become a very uncomfortable conversation. Tara carried on in her place, speaking more carefully now that Leliana had said her piece. “I would welcome the help, of course, but I won’t have you here because you saw a pretty flower. I am not Andraste. I haven’t heard His voice, I don’t feel His hand on mine when I swing my sword. I will stand against the Blight, but I want you to know just what you’re getting into if you stay.”

Leliana chuckled quietly. “But of course. Consider it a nudge out the door, and let us make the most of it. I will not ask you to believe in my own divine mandate.”

The treeline was still quiet as Bethany’s eyes wandered over the silvered landscape. Even as they stood here talking, it was difficult not to see every rock and gnarled shrubbery as a Darkspawn lying in ambush. They could be creeping through the lines already, staying to the shadows until there were enough of them inside to pounce. They had done it before, sending Shrieks into the refugee camp to sew chaos and kill as many innocents as they could. She found herself staring hard at one rock, hidden just behind the first row of trees and looking for all the world like one of the human-looking Darkspawn. That sapling beside it could have been a staff. It was even catching the light in the right places to make eyes appear in its head.

“I had planned to take the army north to Denerim once we reached Redcliffe,” Tara was saying. “The King’s Army needs a new name without the King, but I doubt the Darkspawn will wait on us to sort that out ourselves.”

The more she stared at it, the more it took shape. She could see the Darkspawn in the shadows, and it was the same one that had tried to take her that morning outside Rybrook Hill. It was the same mage, the same one with the strange markings on its head. She could even see the fetishes around its neck, white bones catching the starlight and shining just brighter than the surrounding woods.

“As fine a plan as any. I imagine things will be a little confused when we reach the city. Do you intend to settle a score, when you arrive?”

“Are you suggesting I make more enemies than what I have already?” Tara asked with a laugh.

“Surely you are aware of the rumors. It is now said by many that Teyrn Loghain betrayed you at Ostagar and abandoned you on the field. You were there, surely you know what happened.”

The rock began to move, one long arm extending toward Bethany as she stared at it. She found herself unable to move, heart in her throat, eyes unable to look away. They were still out there, watching them, watching her. It was waiting for her to leave, to make another mistake like the one she had made today. It wanted her alone, and it would follow her across the sea to find its moment.

“If anyone here claims they knew what happened on that field, you have my permission to knock some sense into them in whatever way you wish. I could not even tell you how many Darkspawn were around us after we charged their lines. The Teyrn could have charged a dozen times and I would not have known. All I saw was Cailin picked up and dashed across the ground by an ogre and even that was over a crowd of thrashing Darkspawn. When I started pulling everyone back, it was just to reposition near the bridge, to take back our old barricades and hold until the charge came, but we were too broken to hold the line. It all fell apart after that.”

Even from so far away, Bethany could see the shadows shift around the creature, and a sudden breeze carried the slightest bit of moonlight down through the trees to light on its twisted face, illuminating a hungry grin. She saw the lips move, mouthing her name as it pointed right at her. Her blood ran cold.

“I would be interested to know the truth. His men came through town spreading rumors of betrayal that were clearly crafted in haste. He said the Grey Wardens were to blame.”

Tara made a noise of disgust. “Don’t we have enough to worry about without picking fights with each other?”

“So you don’t believe him?”

“I didn’t say that. If he’s lying, he’s talking out his ass. If he’s telling the truth, these Wardens are a far cry from the ones in my mother’s stories. That night was the longest of my life and yet I could sum it up for you in a few words; howling Darkspawn, dead friends. Blood and screams, sister. I’m sorry for not being more poetic.”

Leliana hummed softly. “No need for apologies. Perhaps one day we will make that story of yours into a song, but that need not happen tonight. Do not dwell on it now.”

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and Bethany heard herself yelp as it did. Several soldiers jumped with her, looking around to see what had startled her and finding the same thing she did. Tara stood beside her, one hand placed gently on her shoulder. “Hey. You alright?”

Bethany looked back to the treeline in a panic but saw nothing. No Darkspawn stood in the shadows of the trees, no creature waited just beyond the open ground to hunt her wherever she travelled. And, try as she might, she could find no trace of the stone or sapling that had looked so much like the monster, either.

“Yeah,” she managed, clearing her throat when she realized how tight it had become. “Sorry. Just seeing things.”

Tara made a noise of concern. “Why don’t we get you back to the tent for a bit? It’s been a long day.”

“Says you,” Bethany countered lamely. “You’ve had less rest than me.”

“And yet only one of us is seeing things, unless I’ve just imagined myself a Chantry Sister to keep the night interesting.”

Leliana snorted. “Do you often find yourself imagining laysisters when you lie awake at night, Tara?”

Bethany found herself too shaken even to laugh at the joke, though she took some small joy in Tara’s unhappy groan. “I’m beginning to regret having you along, you know. I will not ask you to return to the Revered Mother and her people, but I’m afraid I have no more corners for you to steal in my own tent.”

“Do not worry, I’m sure I can find a place among the refugees.” Leliana gave a little bow as she began to back away. “I’ll see you again in a few days, Tara. Do take care of yourself, Bethany.”

Tara found herself much too busy the next day to consider the daunting prospect of stopping the Blight. All the ones before had been stopped - the fact that they were still around to complain about this one was proof enough of that - but remembering the endless waves of Darkspawn that had crashed into them at Ostagar, it all felt, well, unstoppable.

And that was how they were in all the best tales. The Blight was an unstoppable wave of Darkness, a stage curtain being drawn to herald the end of humanity’s crowded hour, until the Grey Wardens came. They were the only ones brave and powerful enough to stand up against the endless tide of darkness. Only they could push back the inevitable end that was coming. Only they possessed the glowing swords of heroes, their blades sharp enough to pierce the Archdemon’s hide when a thousand arrows would only scatter off those scales like rain.

What a crock those stories had turned out to be.

Good thing she had never joined up, she thought. All she had to do was survive the wretched thing. Whatever Sister Leliana thought of their mission, it would not be one of daring deeds and valiant last stands. They would, to a man, end up dead in some nameless ditch, heaped together while some other unfortunate commander pulled her people together to hold the trenches a mile in their rear.

She unconsciously looked to Bethany and wondered if she had heard her thoughts. It was a lucky thing the girl was not a blood mage or she would have surely given her an earful about such unhappy thoughts.

The girl walked a short distance ahead, speaking amicably with her sister and receiving what she assumed was the standard treatment all younger sisters got from their older siblings. She continuously swatted at the larger woman’s shoulder, chastising her in the friendliest way even while her mother looked on and laughed. It was both entirely too easy and impossibly difficult to remain behind, out of earshot and out of the girl’s tired mind. She deserved a few moments of peace before they reached Redcliffe and, at the moment, Tara was just happy that she had found one.

Heavy footfalls reminded Tara why she had stayed so far away. Full plate had a way of making an impression on the earth itself, and whatever she had to say about the Order, it was a testament to the endurance of every Templar that they had made this march weighed down by so much metal.

“Commander,” an unfamiliar voice called, tentative and without the strange echo that would have come from inside a bucket helm. “May I have a moment?”

She looked over her shoulder to find a young woman, blonde hair shaved to stubble, looming just behind her. Tara noted with appreciation the woman’s helmet under her arm as well as the many dents and scars in her armor. “Of course, Ser.”

“Crisly, ma’am. Richessa Crisly, though you can call me Cris, if it suits you.”

Tara raised an eyebrow and wondered if Berenice had at last found someone willing to poison her waterskin. “Cris, then. Is there something you need?”

“No, ma’am, though a good night’s sleep would do wonders if you’ve got one to spare.” They shared an obligatory smile at the poor joke, Tara’s own tinged with more than a little surprise. First a polite Templar and now jokes on a death march? The world had gone mad. “I’ve just come up from the rear. No Darkspawn to speak of.”

“They’re about, Ser Cris. I’d stake my life on that.”

“They say all the best captains are born gamblers, ma’am.”

The awkward smile she got raised her eyebrows further. Being threatened by a Chantry Mother for protecting an apostate had been less awkward than this. “Part of the job.”

To her credit, Cris cleared her throat. “I just wanted to catch you before Redcliffe. Mother Berenice has been, uh, well, she’s been speaking with some of the other knights of the Order. About the apostate.”

“Get to the point, if you don’t mind.”

“We don’t like it.”

Now Tara rounded on her fully. Though they marched near the head of the column and the road itself was hardly wider than a wagon, there were few enough of her soldiers around. Those that were had their weapons drawn as a precaution against Darkspawn ambushes but none of them were looking with any great interest at the Templar. Perhaps none of them were listening. More likely they were waiting to see which woman came out on top before throwing their copper in the pot.

“We’ve gone one night without Darkspawn, Ser Cris. I would have thought a night of quiet would give you an appreciation for the peace, not give you a desire to shatter it the very next day.” Tara kept her voice quiet and cast a glance toward Bethany, making sure the girl was still out of earshot. She was still up ahead, laughing at something her sister said and complaining to her mother about the words. “Surely Mother Berenice has told you how I feel about turning Bethany over to her.”

Ser Cris was silent for a moment as they walked, giving Tara a moment to digest the insanity of her own words. She had not gone into battle at Ostagar thinking she would come out the other side ready to fight the Templars for an apostate she had scarcely known for a week. In all fairness, she had also lost a good bit of her own blood for the damned girl, and nothing bred faster friendships than exsanguination.

“Surely you know the Chant of Light, ma’am. It is not our place to shelter her, whatever she has done for us.”

“I could put on a blue and silver tabard if that would convince you otherwise,” Tara quipped irritably. “We put the Chant aside for the Wardens, and if any of them were still around, I imagine they would be clamoring to get their hands on a mage so eager and able to stand up against the Darkspawn.”

It was not the first time she had wished for a bit of patience. Where it had all gone was not exactly hard to figure out, but getting it back was a puzzle far more difficult than what her tired mind was prepared to tackle. A growing part of her wanted to throw her hands up and walk away from it all, let Bethany deal with the misfortune of her birth and pretend she had never heard the girl’s name. It was the same part of her that considered taking a patrol out to the north and just walking away, leaving the army and refugees to fend for themselves.

Maker, she needed sleep. They all did. Ser Cris, silent while Tara recovered from her internal tantrum, was likely just as exhausted as everyone else. She owed her better than that, at least until she started making threats. “I understand the Chant fairly well, Ser, but I do not feel I have a choice in this. The Darkspawn are here. The Blight is here. I will happily discuss scripture with you when this war is over, but at the moment, Bethany is one of the few things keeping us from being overrun each night.”

Ser Cris cleared her throat. “Of course, ma’am. We appreciate what you’ve done for us. A lot of us were based on Lothering. When the Darkspawn came, the guards lit out like their asses were on fire. It was just us against the Blight until you came along. If you hadn’t been there, we’d all be dead.”

Up ahead, Bethany was being tugged further up the column by her sister, her mother following close behind. It took Tara a moment to realize that there was shouting coming from up ahead in tones she had all but forgotten.

“We aren’t happy about the apostate, ma’am, I’ll admit that much, but it isn’t here I’m here about. I’m here about Ser Aubrecht.”

Tara turned away from the joyous sounds expectantly. “Is that so?”

“We know our duty. Those of us from Lothering, from Rybrook Hill, we aren’t trained to bring in mages, not like he is, but that doesn’t make him the right man for the job. He’s sick. The way he talks about her, about teaching her a lesson on the road, he’s as unguarded as he is unfit to wear the armor.”

That was unexpected. Tara eyed Cris up, judging whether or not this was a more elaborate play by Berenice to gain her trust. If it was, Cris at least was being earnest. “I’m afraid I can’t do much about him, either, save report him to your Tower. The Blight is a blade that cuts both ways.”

“I understand. We’ll inform the Tower when we can, but that will take time, and not all of us are willing to pack up and leave just yet.” Ser Cris’s demeanor changed enough to make her look twenty years younger, like a little girl holding a practice sword and wearing an iron pot for a helmet. “A lot of us want to stay with you, ma’am, if you’ll have us. You said it yourself, the Darkspawn are here. The Blight is here. You’ve done right by us and as long as you’re fighting Darkspawn, we want to be there.”

Tara did her best to keep a straight face amidst the flattery and misguided loyalty. What about this miserable experience made everyone think she wanted to keep it going? “I will not turn away help when it is offered. Thank you, Ser Cris. We need all the help we can get.”

“If you intend to keep fighting, we won’t be the first to bow out. But, as I was saying, that leaves us at a bit of an impasse where your apostate is concerned.”

“She isn’t my apostate,” Tara corrected absently and without really thinking.

Ser Cris, ignoring for a moment that the girl was both wearing her armor and sleeping in her tent, kindly continued her original point. “Bethany must be returned to the Tower. Not as a prisoner or as a criminal, but as a pupil, and a promising one at that. Few can claim to have faced down as many threats as she has in the last few days. No doubt temptation preyed upon her day and night and she has not given in. She could save many young lives, were she made an Enchanter. That is what those of us who remember our oaths desire.”

She liked to imagine that this conversation had happened in the Templar camp and that Ser Aubrecht was now crying into Mother Berenice’s skirts because he suddenly had no more friends around. It was a petty indulgence but she wasn’t sorry about it. “What do you propose, then? I will keep my eye on her as I have been doing since Lothering, but I cannot claim to hold any sway over her. If she decides to leave, I am not in much of a position to stop her.”

That was assuming she had even the slightest interest in telling her to wait around for the Templars to slap the appropriate manacles around her wrists. She did not. “I understand, ma’am. You have other, shall we say, more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Those of us who remain will keep an eye on her as best we can and, when the Tower sends an escort, she will be taken to the Tower in all safety. Surely you agree this is the best for everyone.”

A lifetime of being taught about the dangers of magic had its way of sticking around in one’s mind, but so did the gentle smile of an apostate who did not deserve her fate. “As long as she is safe.”

It was all she could say without tipping her hand. She had already forced one outburst on Berenice and, though the wretched hag deserved it, she was not about to throw away the rest of the Templars in a second such display. Bethany would slip away, Tara would not stop her, and the Templars would be none the wiser. They might be upset, even accuse her of complicity in the act, but this was a Blight. No one would ask questions about one apostate from a village that no longer existed.

Ser Cris gave a slight bow and tapped her fist to her chest. “As you say, ma’am.”

Technically, she probably shouldn’t have been saluting her, but Tara was new to this whole command structure business, and so did not correct it.

Instead, she looked up ahead to where she could see the young girl who had drawn so much attention from on high. She was standing near the back of a large crowd of whooping, hollering, dancing figures. Soldiers and civilians, men and women, old and young were all gathered near something and were absolutely losing their minds in ecstasy.

A few fairy tales came to mind, these ones of the cautionary variety, and Tara readied herself for some kind of bewitched fennec that sapped the sanity of all who looked upon it. It probably said something about her mental state that disaster was her first reaction even when confronted with such a boisterous celebration, but she was not inclined toward introspection at the moment. That could wait until after the war. She noticed Bethany’s mother and sister were nearby and were participating in the euphoria in their own way. Her mother was on her knees, weeping, while her sister stood over her and laughed, holding the frail thing by the shoulders and shaking her.

“What in the Maker’s name is this?” Tara heard herself asking, as though her present company could offer any answers.

To her surprise, by virtue of height alone, it could. “I think it’s a sign, ma’am.”

“A sign? What kind?” Was this some kind of blood magic ritual? A spell gone horribly wrong?

Ser Cris chortled. “A wooden one, I think. The sort that points directions.”

So it was. It wasn’t long before Tara was at the edge of the circle, the soldiers that noticed her parting and waving her forward to see what they had found. The refugees, those not covered in dirt and holding each other for dear life, grabbed at her shirt and began thanking her like she was a vision of Andraste.

All over a wooden sign with a few words burned into its face. When Tara reached it, she found herself holding back tears of her own. It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. She felt herself choking up. There wasn’t even a full sentence, just a name and a promise.

Redcliffe. 20 miles.


	14. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany finds Tara alone the last night before Redcliffe

Bethany had become used to the nights in camp. The soft glow of too-small fires and the terrified voices that occasionally drifted from just outside their light had characterized every night outside Lothering, and for all she wished that she could change it, she found it hard to imagine things being any other way.

That was what made tonight so strange. The fires burned bright enough to light up the valley and there were sounds in the air that Bethany had all but forgotten. Laughter and song drifted on the air as Leliana, somewhere, was taking the gloom and darkness that surrounded them and leaving in its place the hope that the sun would rise again and its light would fall on a better tomorrow. Hearing her sing, it was almost possible to believe this was not the end of the world.

She had spent a long time listening to that song before she had started walking. They had made camp near a ridge, with much of the refugees spread out over the low ground. The army had taken up positions all around, including the high ground atop the ridge that overlooked the camp. From the back of the ridge, the rising orange glow might have looked terrifying any other night. It might have reminded her of the burning of Lothering or the countless times the Darkspawn had raided the column during their journey.

Instead, as she walked along in the shadow of the campfires, she actually felt peaceful.

So, too, did the lone figure sitting at the edge of the ridge. She did not need to get any closer to know the outline was Tara. The Commander now overlooked her charges, those she had kept safe since Lothering or even as far back as Ostagar. It made Bethany stop in her tracks, seeing her silhouetted against the peaceful glow of the world below and the clear, starlit sky above.

She might have continued walking, making her way back to their tent to sleep in the bedroll she had been using since Tara had taken her in, but the sight compelled her to stay and watch for a moment. From here, she looked so terribly alone.

Bethany felt herself creeping forward even before she had made up her mind to go and sit with her. Even if it was just for a moment, she wanted to at least make sure she was not completely alone, not after everything she had done. This might be the last chance she got to speak with her, after all. Once they reached Redcliffe, it would not be long before her family left for Gwaren and Kirkwall across the sea.

She was still a good way off, as unseen and unheard as anyone could have been, when Tara raised one hand toward her, turning just enough for Bethany to see a faint smile.

Feeling like a fool, Bethany stumped her way toward the ridge. It took her what felt like minutes before she even came close enough not to have to shout. “You’re awfully hard to sneak up on.”

“You are not the first to try, Bethany Hawke,” Tara said easily. She sounded more at peace than Bethany had ever heard her. “But you are the first in a long time that I do not mind seeing.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “It sounds as though you’re comparing me to the Darkspawn.”

“Maker, no, I’ve seen you angry. I’d sooner take my chances with the Horde.” Tara looked over her shoulder as she came closer. “What brings you all the way up here tonight? Did you need anything?”

“No, nothing. I was just out walking and…” Bethany trailed off as soon as she reached the ledge and caught sight of the camp below. She had been in the middle of it not half an hour before but seeing it from above, it was overwhelming. “Wow.”

Heat immediately washed over her face as she realized how stupid that must have sounded, but Tara just laughed. “I keep thinking the same thing. It’s amazing. After everything they’ve been through, they can still find something to be hopeful about.”

“They didn’t think they’d be here.” Looking out over the camp, it was hard to remember that first night they had spent on the road, with the rains so bad those wounded in the fighting had drowned when they could not raise themselves above the surface.

The memory of that night was like something out of a nightmare, and from their perch on the ridgeline, it may as well have happened in the Fade. It was almost unbelievable. Fighting an Ogre rather than running seemed suicidal, nevermind that she had now fought one with her sister and one completely on her own.

When she did not elaborate, lost in her thoughts as she was, Tara looked up at her and cocked her head.

Bethany gestured toward the camp. “I doubt any of them imagined they’d see the end of this. I didn’t. Redcliffe seemed like the Black City, honestly, always there but never any closer.”

“I know the feeling. I feel like the last weeks have been an entire lifetime and everything before was just a dream.” Tara nodded to the ground beside her absentmindedly and Bethany obligingly took a seat. “So that’s true, then, about the city?”

“That’s what they say. I haven’t ever thought about it, really,” Bethany admitted. It had never exactly been her point of focus in the Fade. “It’s just sort of… there, off in the distance. I’ve never tried to get closer. Didn’t seem like a good idea, you know? Evil men, long shadows, that sort of thing.”

“I doubt they were as polite as you,” Tara said with a huff. “I can’t imagine you just barging in without knocking first.”

“You’ve never had siblings, have you? Sometimes barging in is the only way to get at the wash basin.”

Bethany waited for a courteous chuckle from Tara but it never came. Instead, she seemed to grow distant. “I can imagine.” It was gone in a moment, and Tara nodded toward the fires below. “I’m surprised you’re not with them tonight.”

“Are you joking? I’m about to spend a very long voyage with them across the Waking Sea. I’ll be elbow-to-elbow with them for weeks.”

Now Tara did laugh, offering her a sidelong look as she did. “You could always stay here. The Darkspawn aren’t exactly better company, but at least you can get away from the smell.”

“That’s almost enough to make me stay.” Even though she said it with a smirk, she was hardly stretching the truth. “Kirkwall is hardly a paradise for mages, let alone an apostate.”

“You aren’t looking forward to going back into hiding?”

It was a fair question, despite Tara’s tongue-in-cheek tone and the uncomfortable look that Bethany nearly missed. “I don’t know. I’ve spent my whole life wishing I was normal. Pretending to be just another farmer’s daughter was nice, I guess. People treated me well enough.”

That was not the whole truth, and from Tara’s silence, they both knew it. Bethany looked down at the crowd below, remembering how they had looked at her that first night. Even if some of them accepted her now, there would always be those that feared her. She would always be cursed with magic, and maybe they were right to be afraid of her. She didn’t want them to be, but there was always a chance she could slip. All it took was one slip, one mistake, one moment of weakness. Many times as a young girl, when she had been inclined to be angry at the world, she had called that unfair and complained that no one else had it so hard.

Her fits never lasted long and Father had always been there for her, to calm her and force her to deal with that anger properly. Now he was gone and Maker did she miss him.

“Did it help?” Tara asked softly. “Pretending to be someone else?”

“No.” Bethany took a seat beside her and wrapped her arms around one knee, letting the other leg dangle over the ridge. “If they knew I was a mage, none of them would have treated me the same. Maybe some would have still talked to me, but there would always have been that fear, that worry in their eyes. They look at me like I’m cursed and I am.”

“So far, all I’ve seen is a blessing.”

Bethany groaned at that. “Don’t say that.”

“You’ve been given a responsibility, Bethany, not a curse. You never asked for it but you carry it well. I don’t know how many here would be dead if not for you, but I know I would be among them. If you’re looking for someone to agree with you, to be afraid of you and tell you to hide yourself in a tower, you will have to look elsewhere.”

She turned, expecting Tara to be smiling, and she was, but she was also staring at her with those rime-and-steel eyes. The intensity there could still surprise her, even if she had seen it a dozen times each day since Lothering. It always made her stop for just a moment, just long enough to catch the breath they had tried to steal away.

The intensity gave her pause, but Bethany was stubborn, and she had spent a lifetime hating what she was. “You still shouldn’t say it.”

“I could shout, if you prefer.”

Another crack formed in Bethany’s unhappy demeanor as she sighed. “You don’t understand. I’m sure you’re more than happy for me to stick around and burn Darkspawn to ashes, but what if there wasn’t a Blight? If it was just me, hearing voices in my head, walking around with fire at my fingertips?”

With a snap of her fingers, flames appeared in the air, bobbing lazily above her outstretched hand. The flame, with all the personality she pretended it had, licked her fingers playfully as she poked at it.

Tara did not so much as glance at it. “Then I expect you and I never would have met.”

“That’s not the point,” Bethany grumbled, drawing little figure-eights against the night sky.

“I know what you meant, but I stand by it. From what I’ve heard, you likely would have spent your time in the Chantry gardens, peaceful and safe and making the poor Templars watching you yawn inside their helmets.” Tara gave her a fond look from the corner of her eye. “That’s where you would have been, and I can promise you never would have seen the likes of me in that garden.”

Bethany turned her gaze away from the flame, letting it fizzle out as she looked to Tara. “You don’t think I got into trouble?”

“I’ll bet you apologized to the grass you trampled going to and from your doorstep.”

It was said so flatly and with such sincere confidence that Bethany found herself spluttering. “I have been - I’ve gotten in trouble before!”

Tara’s laughter told her exactly how convincing that protest was. “Please, then, tell me the story of Bethany Hawke, terror of Lothering. What is the worst thing you have ever done?”

Of course she would ask for something specific. She racked her brain, frantically searching for something that would be suitably worldly and daring but also not too horrible. There was nothing. “With magic?” she asked to buy time.

“Or without, I’m not picky. I just want to hear about your criminal exploits.” Tara leaned in, knowing that Bethany had nothing and looking as smug as a Mabari with a bone. “Were you a pie thief? Did you pick the roses at the Chantry? Did you put a bucket of water on top of a cracked door?”

“My sister tried that one,” Bethany said, still stalling. “Only Father closed the door rather than opening it. Carver came away soaked. I think that’s why he’s - why he was so competitive. With Marian.”

Tara’s smugness slowly faded to concern as Bethany tripped over her words. She did not want this moment to be one of grief. There had been so many of those. She looked up at Tara, smiling as her dear departed brother offered her the perfect answer to the question.

“Maybe not so bad as stealing pies, but I do have something.”

Following Bethany’s lead, Tara leaned back and recovered her confidence. “Go on, then.”

“When we were younger, we had a Mabari called Larius.”

Tara raised an eyebrow. “That’s an odd name.”

“Father named him. And don’t interrupt. He was still a puppy when Marian was born, and the two of them were thick as thieves. That dog loved her more than anyone else in the family and we all knew it. So, one day, while she was out, I was feeling a bit jealous and I wanted to know why. Why did he love Marian so much and not me. I figured, I’ve got magic, I can just ask him.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Bethany tilted her head back and looked at the stars, remembering her sister’s face perfectly. “I sat down with him and I got him to talk. Just like that.”

Tara actually leaned forward, those eyes of hers keen on Bethany’s. “What did he say?”

“About what you’d expect,” Bethany said, deflating a bit as she did. “Lots of ‘hello's and ‘I love you's and a lot of asking about food. He was a dog. When I realized that he wasn’t going to be particularly eloquent in his explanation, I decided that was that.” She paused for dramatic effect, a smile creeping onto her face as laughter began bubbling beneath her words. “Only, I hadn’t realized how long the spell would last. When Marian came home, he went crazy, barking and shouting and charging after her as he always did. Can you imagine? Your family dog suddenly running up to you and talking?”

“I would have left you for the Darkspawn and called it even.” Tara shook her head, her own laughter quiet but deep and soulful. It was far more than Bethany had ever heard from her, so she took it as high praise.

“I don’t think she ever forgave me.” Marian still brought it up to this day every time they saw a Mabari. Or whenever she found a grey hair on her head. “To be honest, I thought she was going to turn me in to the Templars the next day, but she didn’t. She said I would be too much trouble at the Tower and preferred I not get any more training, lest I learn to do even worse than that.”

Still shaking with mirth, Tara at last saw the truth. “Alright, I give in. Perhaps all that time in the gardens was spent in penance for a life of mischief and evil things.”

“That is what they told me.” As much as she had loved the quiet of the Chantry, that may have been because any sounds she heard were likely to condemn her for drawing breath. “And what about you, Commander?”

She said the word teasingly but the title now felt strange on her lips. Tara, still smiling and looking nothing like the stern woman that she had met in Lothering, cocked her head expectantly. “What about me, Enchantress?”

“What horrible things did you get up to when you were younger?”

Tara sighed and looked up at the stars, her face scrunched up as she thought it over. It was so unlike anything Bethany had seen from her that she found herself giggling at the sight of it. “Ah, where to begin. How young? I like to think I’m still in my prime, after all.”

“Just answer the question,” Bethany said peevishly.

“Alright. You told me a wonderful story, so I suppose I can try to give you something in return.” Tara’s eyes fell on Bethany’s, sparking with more life than she had ever seen in them. “Now, when I tell you this, you must promise never to tell a soul.”

“Should I be worried?” Bethany leaned in, grinning like a little girl. “Am I about to learn that you are secretly an Antivan Crow?”

“No, but this is something I have never told anyone for many, many years. Do you promise?”

Bethany nodded.

“Very well. When I was little, maybe six years old, I learned I was to be married off to another family. My father was an ambitious man and wanted to rise in his standing, leaving more for his other children to inherit.”

Bethany found herself leaning in, eyes wide. “Does that mean - were you a noble?”

Tara gave her a look that implied a premature end to the story if she did not sit quietly, so she contained her excitement for a moment. “I was, but that is not what matters. What matters is I had no desire to be married. My mother had read me too many bedtime stories and so I had imagined a glorious career of knightly heroics as my future. A stupid thing to dream of, honestly. Look how well it turned out.”

“From where I’m sitting, things could have turned out much worse,” Bethany said quietly, unable to hold herself back. “For me as well as everyone else.”

“Maybe,” Tara admitted, frowning but feeling generous enough to continue the story. “My mother might have agreed. When she learned of the arrangement, she asked me what I wanted for myself and I told her. I want to be a knight! She just smiled and told me that was what would happen. I didn’t believe her until hardly a week later a man arrived from one of the neighboring cities. He claimed to be a master of the sword, someone who could teach me to fight like the best in the world.

“I was overjoyed, and after the first lesson, not even knowing how to hold the blade or plant my feet, I wanted to keep practicing. I wanted to spar, to fight monsters, to be the best in the kingdom after a single day of training. So, excited little girl that I was, I decided to go fight all the Orlesian knights hiding underneath my bed.” Tara smiled thinly for emphasis. “With a real blade.”

Bethany failed to stifle a snicker. “So that was your secret after all? You’re a murderer?”

Something flashed across Tara’s face too quickly for Bethany to catch. “No, not so young as that, though only by sheer luck did the poor boy survive. I stole a long knife from the armory and hurried back to my room to fight off an imaginary Horde. Everything would have been fine except for the poor boy sent to clean my room.”

That snicker now turned into a groan. “How could you?”

“My first blood drawn and I was still so young,” Tara continued with a wan smile. “He was one of the elven servants. He nearly lost his finger to my clumsiness, and when the guards saw the blood on the floor and the two of us running about with a knife, they nearly killed him on the spot. What saved him, happily enough, was their reluctance to engage a six-year-old with a bloody knife while she screamed for her father.”

Her eyebrows had been making steady progress up her forehead and now were trying to join with her hairline as Bethany held her mouth open in silence. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Not what you were expecting, hm?”

“I -” Bethany lowered her voice, edging closer to Tara as she did. “Is that why you didn’t want anyone to know? You’re a noble?”

Tara’s eyes again shimmered, the fire behind them threatening to go out and turn them to glass once more. “Not anymore. It’s a long story, and not nearly as much fun as our little game. I prefer these memories of ours, these small tales before they were woven into the larger tapestry.”

“But still! You had a name, a family. Is that why you had this?” Bethany pressed her hand to her chest where the silverite chain still hung.

Tara actually laughed. “Oh, no. That is no gift from a wealthy family.”

“Then how? Were you sent away? Exiled? Are you fleeing from this marriage? Surely you must have stayed with the blademaster. I’ve seen you fight!” Bethany continued even as Tara raised a hand and began shying away in surrender.

“Please,” she said as Bethany wound herself down. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, it’s just...” Bethany found herself wanting to frantically back off and do something stupid to get the moment back, but she was a curious girl at heart. “No one knows anything about you. They just know you as the Commander. Even I don’t know your full name and it seems the half I do know is a rarity.”

Tara slowly leaned back, looking down toward the sea of people below, the glow of hundreds of fires reflecting in her eyes. “Who says you don’t know my full name?”

The small admission, that little crack in the door, was enough that Bethany nearly launched herself forward to batter it down. It took all her effort to just sit there, quietly, patiently, respectfully, and not try to wring the story from her by hand. Suddenly she imagined herself dealing not with a woman who fought off Darkspawn three times a day but with a young girl, begging for bread outside the Chantry. She had to be careful, well-spoken.

“What?”

As blunt and stupid as it was, at least it didn’t scare her away. “You know it all already, my dear Bethany. There isn’t anything more to it. When you join the army, they ask you for your name. I gave them Tara. They never did ask for a second. And why should they? Orphans and bastards join up by the score, so I expect they’re used to the affair.”

Determined not to make a fool of herself again, Bethany inched a little closer. “So then Tara isn’t your real name. You’re hiding it. Why? Is it a secret?”

Another small smile. “It is, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

What in the Maker’s name did that mean? Again, she resisted leaning forward and shaking the story out of her. She wanted to know everything and she was struggling even to get her name.

“I’m sorry,” Tara said, interrupting Bethany’s carefully planned interrogation as she turned toward her. “I know I’m not making this easy for you.”

Whatever Bethany intended to say was lost when she noticed the look on Tara’s face. The genuine sorrow there stayed her tongue just long enough for her to regain control of her more selfish desires. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m asking for secrets, after all. I should be the one apologizing.”

“I don’t think you need to apologize for asking my name, Bethany.” Tara tilted her head slightly, a bit of life returning to her eyes as she did. “I could make one up for you. Then only you and I would know it.”

Bethany had to laugh at that. “I don’t think that’s how it works!”

“Why not?”

“You can’t just make up a name. That’s…” Bethany found herself trailing off under the very amused look Tara was giving her. “I don’t know, it just isn’t right.”

“Then come up with a good one for me and we can pretend I’ve always had it.”

Maker, it was hard not to laugh at that but she was trying to be serious. “You’re impossible.”

Tara, or whatever her name was, chuckled, evidently pleased with herself. “I think I’m being very understanding. I’ve never asked anyone to help with a name before.”

“How thoughtful,” Bethany said wryly before giving her a sideways look and again trying to ask a question that would not scare her away. “Have you done it many times before, then?”

Now Tara did look uncomfortable. Not overly so, but just enough to put a shadow over her contented smile and a bit of stiffness in her spine. “Would that trouble you?”

That should have been an easy question. She wanted very badly to say no just to keep her talking, but she had no idea what to make of a woman with no real name. “No. I don’t think it would.”

“That’s very kind, but I wouldn’t blame you if it did,” Tara sighed, leaning further away and leaving Bethany to curse her own stubbornness. “I know it used to bother me, but that was a long time ago.”

“Should it?” Bethany asked, drawing Tara’s attention as she did. “Should I worry about what your name was last year or the one before?”

“Of course!” she replied, laughing. “You don’t know anything about me. I have been pretending to be this person for a little over a month.”

“Yes, pretending to be someone who stands to Templars and Darkspawn and saves rural villagers by their hundreds from the Blight. I’ve only known you for a week but whatever name you choose, I know you by what you’ve done for me.”

Tara’s eyes, now clear grey and shining like river rocks in a shallow stream, returned to Bethany’s, tentative as a stray cat in the rain. “It was the least I could do. Truly, there’s no need to feel beholden to me for what little I’ve done. For all the danger I’ve put you in, the things I’ve made you do, you owe me nothing, not even a place in your memory beside all those who have wronged you most.”

“And what if I do want to remember you?”

“Then we would be here a very long time,” Tara said with a gruff and dismissive laugh. “I’ve been so many different people in my time, Bethany, enough that I could not recall half their names even if I wanted to. And I would sooner forget their names than pass their stories on to you. I remember the things I did as those people, the things I had to do to survive.”

Her voice may have been heavy but Bethany was stubborn and refused to let it weigh her down. “Were there so many other Blights that I had not heard of?”

Another laugh answered her. “What are you talking about?”

“That is what you said, isn’t it? You were just acting as Tara, playing a part that let you survive?” Bethany waited for Tara to slowly nod in agreement. “I don’t believe you. It would have been far easier to let the Templars take me. You would have been far safer if you had just ignored Lothering and let the Darkspawn take us all. And, from what I have seen, you would have been far safer if you had left Ostagar on your own. Instead, you stayed, and you fought and you risked so much more than your life. I’ve seen what this march has done to you. I don’t believe you were any more coldhearted before the Blight than you are now.”

“You’ve seen what I’ve had to do, Bethany.” Tara looked away, first to the camp below then up to the stars when Bethany tried moving to keep her gaze. “They aren’t things a good person could ever do. What you did for that boy, what you said afterwards, that was something heroic, something good.”

“And you said it reminded you of your mother?”

Again, Tara nodded. “Yes, and of a little girl who died a long time ago. Whatever is left of her, it isn’t what you think. Tara might be all that’s left of those foolish dreams, and that’s only because of you.”

Suddenly furious, Bethany pushed herself closer, startling Tara and drawing her eyes back down from the heavens. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve known you a week and you aren’t someone who is just pretending to be good. Every time you’ve had a chance to run, you haven’t. And you’ve done more than that. You didn’t run, you took all of our lives in your hands as well as your own and you’ve carried all of us this far. None of us thought we would ever make it this far, but you got us here. You did things that would have broken anyone else. You’ve been right there next to me every day we’ve been on the road. Have you even slept since this began?”

Tara laughed softly, eyes going wide in surprise. “I’ve had some sleep!”

“Not while I’ve been awake, and not in the bedroll that you gave over to my mother. Does that sound like someone who was just running away to you?” Bethany sat back, shaking her head and adjusting her shirt. “Maker, on top of everything, you’ve given me the shirt off your back. And don’t pretend you don’t do as much fighting as the rest of us. You came back for me when I tried to save that boy, don’t forget. I wouldn’t have come back from that. You saved me from the Templars when we first met. You’ve always been there for me.”

“Is that what you’ll remember, then?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Her words trailed off as she looked up and met Tara’s eyes again. “I don’t -”

All her anger was suddenly gone, flames smothered by sudden frost. Those eyes, brilliant and piercing blue, were always as intense as winter’s heart, but she had never seen them like this. As cold and invincible as frosted steel, Bethany found herself suddenly frozen in place, unwilling or unable to move at all. With only a look, that cold had done to her what it had to so many girls emboldened by a dare. Her tongue was stuck fast, as to a frozen post in winter, and there it stayed. She could not pull away, nor did she want to.

Far better to lean forward. That was something every girl knew, after taking such a dare, after the heat in her mouth had faded and left her at the mercy of the frost. Warmth. She needed warmth to make it free again.

“I wonder, then, if that’s enough,” Tara asked, soft as a snow falling on a windless night.

“What?” Bethany whispered back, wishing there were no words at all.

“To live a week as someone, and to realize that person is who you want to be more than anything. To have such a high place in the memories of someone like you, even if that memory is so small a part of me.” Tara’s eyes stayed with hers, holding them in place and leaving Bethany feeling as weak as a ragdoll. “Is that enough to wash away so many other lives spent hiding as a coward?”

Bethany blinked, her mind sluggish and unwilling to consider anything more than who was in front of her. “I don’t know any of those other people. Just you.”

She remained helplessly lost in the gaze of the woman who she only knew as Tara, the woman Bethany only ever needed to know as Tara. “And? Do you not want to?”

“Yes,” she managed, her tongue still leaden and slow as her mind. “I mean, no. I don’t need to. You’ve been good to me - you are good to me, I mean. Sorry.”

Tara’s lips curled in a smile that Bethany dumbly mirrored. She was still sitting there, rooted in place as surely as if she were waist deep in quicksand, waiting to be taken by the hand and led away to somewhere safe.

Slowly, she began to realize Tara’s expression had changed, and though she had hardly moved, she no longer loomed over her in that way that had left her so paralyzed. The fog in her mind began to lift.

“You should get some sleep, Bethany.” Tara’s eyes finally left her own, a sadness in them she did not understand and was angry at for existing. “You’ve a long journey ahead of you, and yours does not end in Redcliffe.”

At last managing to collect herself, Bethany could only stare at the side of Tara’s head and wonder what she had done wrong. Surely there was something she could have said and instead spent these last moments instead lifting that sadness from her eyes. She spent a long moment waiting, wishing for her to say something more, something that would give her another chance to do it right this time, but it never came.

When she did stand, turning back toward the tent and what would be one of her last nights in Ferelden, she found herself hesitating. There was so much more she wanted to say.

“Tara -” The eyes returned, and so too did Bethany’s heart return to her throat, stopping whatever perfect words might have reached her lips and allowing her only a quiet “Thank you. For everything.”

The sadness did not leave, but a kind smile returned to mask it. “You’ve nothing to thank me for, Bethany Hawke. Go on, now. I’ll see you in the morning.”


	15. The Last Few Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Redcliffe village in sight, the Darkspawn Horde makes one last attempt to stop the refugees from escaping, forcing Tara to make a difficult decision

“You’re good to me? You’re good to me?! Maker’s breath, I couldn’t have made that worse if I’d tried!” Bethany looked around quickly, making sure she was still alone before continuing under her breath. “I don’t want to know you - no wait, I do - wait, who are you? I’ve already forgotten!”

The Hinterlands answered with bird calls and chittering animals. Somewhere a wolf howled its disapproval. Bethany glowered at a nearby tree and tried to focus. The heat in her face, only partially from embarrassment, was keeping her from the less-important task of searching out Darkspawn and kept her mind focused on the woman whose name she still did not know.

“No one gets two words out of her this whole time and when she finally opens up to you, what do you do? Oh, obviously you start thinking about how pretty her eyes are. Think about her hair and her arms and definitely don’t ask what name her parents gave her. Don’t tell her that you’ll call her whatever name she likes so long as she stays with you. And definitely don’t ask her to come to Kirkwall where it’s safe!”

She had at least tried to tell Tara that, or at least she thought she had. It was hard to remember much else beyond the places her mind had gone during those moments. Sleeping last night had not been easy. She had spent half the night watching the tent flap through lidded eyes. She drifted off at some point, wondering how she could make up for being so foolish and draw Tara’s interest without lying exposed atop the bedroll. The thought still made her red in the face. When she woke again, Tara had returned but had not slipped silently into Bethany’s waiting arms - probably because they were covered in drool and, after so long on the road, smelled unspeakably foul.

“It’s hardly my fault,” she muttered, peering through a grove of trees and seeing nothing. “I don’t know how to make a girl notice me and that’s when I’m awake!”

“Talking to yourself is a good start.”

Bethany jumped and swore and wished it had been a Darkspawn scream that had interrupted her rather than her sister’s voice.

Marian, her massive sword resting on one shoulder and her foot planted comfortably on a fallen log, looked down on her and grinned. “Tell me, sister, who is the lucky lady? Is it the Chantry girl? The one with red hair? I always liked her.”

“I wish you’d stop thinking about who I fancy spending time with. Shouldn’t you be looking for Darkspawn or something?”

“Mother always liked her too, you know,” Marian continued, ignoring her. “She’d be so happy to hear you found someone pious. And very pretty, besides, with a wonderful voice and a glowing personality. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d ever bring anyone home - though I suppose you’re not exactly doing that now, are you?”

Teeth grinding like millstones, she sought any release that would offer itself. They were too far afield to be interrupted by patrolling soldiers and no Darkspawn had deigned to show themselves. Not even a rabbit came wandering by.

“Or is it someone else? Don’t tell me it’s our fearless leader,” Marian teased, voice turning sly and all too knowing.

Again she felt her face growing hot. “Can we not do this now?”

Now her sister put on a properly disgusted look. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her!”

“Oh, leave it alone! Can’t I take care of my own affairs?”

“You are my little sister,” Marian said matter of factly. “Your affairs will never be your own. And I, for one, am now very grateful that we are crossing the sea and going far, far from here.”

“I recall you telling me that she wasn’t so bad,” Bethany protested weakly. Torn between not admitting her feelings and defending the object of them, she found herself unable to say much of anything. “You were telling me all about how great it was that she protected me from the Templars, that she had a uniform and respect.”

“Some respect,” Marian shot back. She took a few steps forward, turning dramatically on one heel and gesturing with her free hand. “That’s alright, this is just your first crush, and it doesn’t matter that it’s on the one person I can’t stand the sight of. The sea air will clear your head and by the time we get to Kirkwall, you’ll be ready for another modest-looking woman with an ill-fitting uniform to sweep you off your feet.”

“Probably fits badly because she gave me her shirt.” Bethany plucked pointedly at the silverite hanging about her shoulders.

Her sister eyed it, stubbornly determined not to be impressed. “She’ll have to do a lot more than that if she wants to make up for all the danger she’s put you in. Giving you a bit of chain -” she poked Bethany in the chest hard enough to make her yelp. “Doesn’t buy her much in my eyes.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I suppose I won’t beat her within an inch of her life the next time I see her.” Marian hefted her broadsword for emphasis. “But I could, and I will if you keep this up. She’s just taking advantage of you, anyway.”

“She is not! She could have kissed me, but she didn’t. For all I know, she’s not even interested.”

“Well now I really don’t like her.” Marian watched impassively as Bethany struggled with her words. But soon her gaze turned predatory. “And it seems you really do.”

Bethany groaned aloud and started walking. “Come on. If we’re going to get killed by Darkspawn, I’d rather it happen now. That way I don’t have to talk to you about this anymore.”

Marian came forward with her, letting her sword slide off her shoulder before bringing it into a guard. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ll still be here when we’re done with these.”

Part of her had known they were coming, not by sight or sound but by smell. After so many days and nights spent fighting them, they had a distinct stench that always hung around them, and she had learned to recognize the sweet stench of fresh death mixed with deep, cold earth.

And though she lacked her sister’s confidence, she picked her staff from the ground and began spinning it just as Father had taught her. She would not die here. How terrible would it be to come so far only to fall within sight of Redcliffe’s walls?

The Darkspawn came at them quickly. There were half a dozen that rushed them first, one of them bellowing loud enough to wake the dead. More would be coming soon. Marian went in swinging with aggression that made the Darkspawn look timid while Bethany remained behind, tossing fire and lighting and making sure her sister was never facing more than one monster at a time.

More did come, though only a few at a time and none of them knew how to use magic. She was always watching for the strange Darkspawn, but there had been no sign of it since she had first seen it. It was something for which she was very thankful.

The last Darkspawn rushed toward Bethany, its dark iron blade held high in rage. It was laughing as she tapped her staff against the ground and produced a gout of flame beneath the creature’s feet. When it toppled to the ground, smoldering, she could still see its grin.

“Maker, I hate that,” she muttered.

“They just keep coming back, don’t they?” Her sister agreed, looking around the site of their little skirmish for any survivors. “They’re like a bad rash. You keep scratching and it just keeps getting nastier. Pretty soon you’ve got skin flaking off and - well, now that analogy just isn’t working.”

Marian began making her way away from the battle and Bethany was eager to join her. It wasn’t long until they reached one of the many sharp ridges that dotted the Hinterlands, this one facing southeast. To one side was a crumbling tower, the stone ruins all but overgrown and the tower’s peak now barely extended above the treetops.

Bethany walked to the cliff and looked off toward the east. She could just barely make out the front of the army, probably no more than a quarter mile away. Below them, blessedly empty, was the road that would lead them to Redcliffe. It wound through the Hinterlands like a drunk serpent without a map but everyone knew where it ended. They were so damned close.

“Shouldn’t we have seen someone by now?” she asked, looking north and expecting to find the Horde staring back at her across the road. “You said the Arl here had an army.”

“He was supposed to, but you know how these things go. He could have gone out for food. Honestly, we probably should have sent a letter or something.”

“Can’t you take anything seriously?”

Marian shrugged. “What? At best, it’s hiding behind one of these hills and we’ll stub our toes on it any second now.”

“And at worst?”

“He was marching it to Ostagar and we passed it days ago, like two giant, noisy ships in the night.”

“You know, I think I like you a bit less serious, sister.” Bethany grimaced, though it was more at her admission than the idea of this all being for nothing.

Marian beamed but said nothing, instead taking the opportunity to begin climbing the ruined tower like a squirrel. Strong as she was, she was not a graceful climber, and Bethany soon moved to avoid being hit by branches, rocks, or the moss-covered stones her sister was threatening to pull from their berths. When she finally reached the top, she shoved a few loose rocks aside and braced herself against one of the larger trees for balance. Bethany moved further away and waited to see if an idiot falling in a forest made any sound. Maybe that would teach her she was not a mountain goat.

It had been Tara’s idea to send the two of them ahead together. It sounded nice on the surface but Bethany hadn’t liked the idea. She had spent this whole journey knowing Tara wanted to keep her close, but after last night, this was the first time she did not mind being kept.

“Should we be getting back? They’ll want to know there are Darkspawn in these hills.” Bethany had barely finished speaking when Marian loudly lost her balance.

The idiot made a very loud sound as she hit the ground and Bethany turned to find Marian looking wide-eyed but still smirking. “Couldn’t agree more. Now, unless you’d like to impress her with an exact count of the Darkspawn, we should probably get going before they find us.”

“What?”

Marian caught her by the arm and gave her a helpful nudge down the hill. What she said to her, she repeated for Aveline when they found her, and again for Tara.

“The valley was full of Darkspawn. Hundreds, maybe thousands. More than I could count. Well, maybe not, but if I’d stuck around to find out -”

Tara waved irritably at her. “I get the point. Maker. I guess it was too much to hope that they’d just let us go without a fight.”

The customary command tent was packed away on one of their remaining wagons, leaving the three of them standing on a hillside that overlooked the marching army. Standing with them were Mother, Leliana, Aveline, and two other soldiers Bethany recognized as being important. Leliana looked confident, if serious, but spared Bethany an infectious smile. Those Chantry robes of hers were barely hanging on but the golden sun insignia still gleamed in the light, a calming influence for all who saw it.

Tara looked toward one of the other soldiers, the one wearing mostly browns and greens, sporting a longbow on her back and a bandage over one eye. Bethany recognized her as the one who had found them outside Lothering. “Your scouts saw the same thing?”

The one-eyed woman nodded. “More coming down from the north, probably leaving the Highway to cut us off. They’re staggered but they’ll hit us soon. If we’re not careful, they’ll tie us down long enough for the rest of the Horde to get here.”

“This doesn’t sound like the full Horde to me,” Tara said absently. “Though I can’t see that making a difference if they manage to stop us anyway. So, we have one group coming at us from the south and one from the north. Where’s that damned map when you need it?”

The other officer, a younger man with stark blonde hair, produced it from his pack to incredulous expressions from everyone else. He then proceeded to unroll it and spread it awkwardly across the ground, only getting it to stay flattened with help from a chuckling Marian.

It didn’t take a sharp tactical mind to see what their plan was. The Hinterlands may have been a sprawling labyrinth of sharp ridges and rolling hills but there was a single, large valley that ran almost to the edge of Redcliffe. From what Marian had said and the scout was pointing out, that was where they were going.

Tara remained silent for a moment, staring at the map. Her eyes were fixed on one point and Bethany found herself anxiously waiting for her to say something.

“Never again,” Tara whispered so quietly Bethany would not have heard it were she not standing beside her. She apparently noticed her reaction and spoke her next words clearly. “We can’t outrun them and I won’t fight with the refugees in the heart of it. Not again.”

Leaning down over the map, she stabbed one long finger down at a point not far from Redcliffe. “This is where they’ll be going, so this is where we’ll meet them. The army will hold these two hills on either side of the valley. That will keep them busy. We’ll dig in, keep them from breaking through until the refugees are through to Redcliffe. With any luck, Eamon’s army will be waiting for you in the city. That should keep the Darkspawn from following you.”

The hilltop was silent. Every face had suddenly turned grim save Mother’s, who now looked as though she was going to be sick.

Tara noticed and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been a good scribe. I thank you for that. You’ll be joining the refugees, as will your family.”

Marian’s expression abruptly became unreadable. Mother looked relieved. Bethany felt as though she had been slapped. “What?!”

“We won’t be able to stop all the Spawn, not if there are as many as you say,” Tara continued, her voice returning to the dispassionate Commander they had met outside of Lothering. “We’ll need someone to keep the refugees safe. I’ll send some of my people but I would feel better if you were among them. Aveline, take your soldiers and what’s left of Third Company. You’re the vanguard. Punch through and make sure this wasn’t all for nothing.”

Aveline nodded, lips drawn to a fine line. “Understood.”

Bethany was still reeling. “You can’t just send us away while you fight the whole Horde on your own!”

“I can and I will,” Tara said, a bit of herself surfacing for just a moment. “Though you are spectacularly bad at following orders.”

Leliana snorted quietly and Bethany felt herself redden. “Then what makes you think I’ll follow them now?”

“Because I’m not giving you an order, Bethany, I’m asking you to help these people.” The illusion of the Commander faded completely and the Tara she had come to know emerged, a kind smile growing in place of her scowl. “They need you. Even if they’re more scared of you than the Darkspawn, even if they haven’t done a thing to deserve your help, they need it. Please. I know I promised I would get you to Redcliffe. I’m sorry to ask you to go the last few steps alone.”

Bethany’s anger wrestled with her helplessness. If, in that moment, a demon had come and offered her a way to save them all, she would have been more tempted than she had ever been in her life. But not even a demon would make a promise like that. Even they knew how this ended.

She didn’t notice her grinding teeth until she caught Leliana smiling at her. What was that look supposed to mean? Tara’s own face was impassive, kind and calm and ready for whatever the Darkspawn would throw at her. And there was Mother, her own eyes desperate, pleading. She couldn’t lose any more children.

Bethany felt herself surrender. “Alright.”

Mother sighed in relief. Marian didn’t so much as blink. Tara let out her own breath of gratitude. “Thank you.”

“We’ll get everyone to Redcliffe. And we’ll see you there.”

Bethany locked eyes with Tara and refused to blink. She had not spent this whole time coming to know her, wondering if she should hate or love her, only to find out for certain and lose her the next day.

Somewhere in the column, soldiers began shouting to one another, refugees began to panic, and one word seemed to rise above all the others. The Darkspawn were here.

Leliana looked off toward the west but stayed beside Tara. The other soldiers dispersed, shouting orders and starting an armored stampede up the road. Aveline did the same, her own leather-lunged shouting soon fading to just another sound in the chaos from the road. Marian moved toward Mother and began hustling her down toward the refugees. She looked back at Bethany and shouted something. Tara kept her eyes on Bethany’s. She did not move, and neither did Bethany.

“Maker watch over you, Bethany,” the Commander said at last, and turned away.

“Tara!” Bethany wanted to chase after her, get her to swear it on the Maker, force her to promise that this would not be the last time they saw one another.

But she didn’t. She stayed where she was, listening to her sister yell at her to move. Tara was soon lost in the rush of the army as it surged forward for one last battle with the Darkspawn. Bethany was left hurrying after her mother and soon found herself at the front of the column, joining Aveline and her soldiers as they hurried along toward the end of the road. The rest of the army could be seen splitting off to climb the hills to either side, growing more distant with every step they took. Already, the sound of Darkspawn screams and clashing steel echoed from the surrounding woods.

And all Bethany could cling to was the impossible lie that somewhere in the wilds, Tara was whispering those two words that she so desperately needed to hear.

Together with her sister and Aveline, they smashed through the Darkspawn between them and Redcliffe. There were only stragglers and, from the sounds of battle and concussive blasts of spells from the nearby hills, most of the Horde was too busy fighting Tara to come after them. They passed through the valley, followed the path as it wound through another cluster of hills, and then it was over.

In front of them, so bright it could have been a vision out of a dream, was Lake Calenhad, its surface aflame in the midday sun. It was barely a mile away, so close she could have reached out and touched it.

“There it is!” Aveline called as she crested the hill, pointing at the castle silhouetted against the brilliant waters. “Do you see it?”

“Couldn’t miss it if I tried!” Marian answered, laughing as she did. “Come on, Mother! We’re almost there!”

The refugees soon came over the rise behind them and cries of unfettered joy pierced the air. There was yelling and sobbing and ecstatic cheering that came with the thundering of a thousand worn-out boots pounding the dirt as one last burst of energy infected everyone in the column. It was the sound of hope, and it nearly brought tears to Bethany’s eyes.

Her sister clapped her on the back and pulled her along down the path. “Come on, Bethany! We can make it!”

Bethany followed, but her eyes shied away from the brilliant waters before them. In part it was to keep the Darkspawn at bay, even if none appeared to slow them down. The path would carry them along a series of long switchbacks down the steep slope, but most of the refugees elected to go cross country. The wagon drivers cursed and swore and some even abandoned their loads within sight of the city walls. They were so close, now. So close to safety, to living another day.

Most of them, at least. Bethany ignored the wagons on the road, ignored her sister’s pleas as she actually outdistanced her and neared the edge of the village in advance of all but the fastest runners. At the edge of town, where a stream turned to a waterfall and passed beneath a large stone bridge, Bethany finally stopped, hands on her knees and breath coming in ragged gasps. Almost there. Just a bit further. That was all.

Someone on the bridge waved at her. Why couldn’t the bastard just come over here? Picking herself up, she reached the lone figure, a man in farmer’s clothes with a shortbow slung across his back. Below them, as they met at the center of the span, lay Redcliffe village, splayed out in all its glory on the shores of Lake Calenhad.

“Are you from the army?” the man asked as Bethany reached him.

“Yes,” she wheezed, doing her best to catch her breath. “Yes. We need help. The Darkspawn, they’re still fighting in the hills. We have to go back.”

“What are you - Darkspawn? Here?”

“Yes! The army is holding them back but we need to help them.”

The man took a step back toward the town. “Maker. Darkspawn, here, I -”

“Where is the army?”

“The what?”

Bethany nearly picked him up by the front of his shirt and shook him. “The army! Arl Eamon had an army here! We need to get back and save them!”

“Maker, don’t you know what’s happened? Has no one out there heard?”

Now Bethany did grab him by the vest. “Where?!”

“Gone!”

All light in the world faded in an instant. She barely even heard her sister coming to a skidding stop behind her. “What?”

“We heard the battle was lost! Some of them went to the forts in the hills to watch for Darkspawn. The Bann took some north to Denerim but he hasn’t returned. Most of the ones that stayed are dead.”

Bethany felt herself growing faint. She shuffled back a few paces, looking back in horror at the distant hills where fire and lightning even now lit up the horizon. A moment later, Marian took her place. “Well, who isn’t dead?”

“There’s a few knights and a company of cavalry in the village. It wasn’t enough to retake the castle. Everyone in the village has been fighting. So many of us are dead. Please, you have to help us!”

Marian groaned. “You don’t listen very well, do you? Okay. You are going to take me to whoever is in charge and you’re going to do it fast. Otherwise my sister is going to run off and try to fight the Darkspawn all by herself. She’s got herself a nice, teenage crush and she’s handling it very badly.”

Bethany looked back, ready to rip her sister’s head off for making light of so many deaths, but the man had finally started moving and was now leading Marian down into the city itself. She could not bring herself to follow. Marian would be able to handle it. She would come back and bring the soldiers and everyone in the village and they would rush out to take the fight to the Darkspawn.

And all she did was watch. She did not rush out heroically to find Tara and save her in the end. All the soldiers who had come with them, Aveline included, soon gathered near where she stood. None of them moved. No one said a word except to utter prayers of deliverance for those they knew were dead.

Then the hills grew dark. Just a few figures at first, so distant they could have been human to hopeful eyes. But more and more came out from the wilderness, so many they covered the ground like autumn leaves.

Bethany could do nothing but watch as all hope withered and slipped like ash between her fingers. She could only watch as the Darkspawn, howling and cheering loud enough to be heard in Redcliffe, closed the mouth of the valley. Struggling figures, once proud and defiant soldiers, were dragged to the front of the Horde. One by one they were brought forward, and one by one they were cut down, executed by Darkspawn that howled and laughed with every slumping body. Her vision blurred by tears, Bethany wanted to run after them more than she had ever wanted anything. She had to do something. They had died giving them this chance.

But all she did was watch.


	16. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tara faces off against the Darkspawn Horde as Bethany makes a last desperate attempt to save her

For once, the Darkspawn had been caught flat-footed. The sudden appearance of half the King’s Army on the valley’s southern shoulder was not something they had anticipated, and from what Tara could tell, the soldiers on the northern side were enjoying the same experience. If this had been Ostagar, they could have held on forever.

But it was not Ostagar. Arrows and bolts were in short supply, armor and weapons had gone too long without repair, and the ones asked to wield them were on their last legs. For all the high ground and natural barriers the Hinterlands offered, they were still losing this fight.

Tara again looked west, peering over a ridgeline that afforded her a narrow view of Redcliffe village. It was obscured by trees and foliage but she could still see the distant gates well enough to know that no one had reached them yet. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to stare at them until Bethany and the others appeared. As surely as a watched pot could never boil, her people would never be safe so long as she was just waiting for it to happen.

The Darkspawn, who had at first emerged as scouting parties looking to claim the high ground, now began attacking in force, and Tara hurried down the hill toward the sound of clashing steel. They were pushing hardest from the southeast, a sign that lightened her heart even as she drew her sword for what was sure to be the last time. As long as they were on this side of the valley, the refugees had a chance.

The trouble now was keeping them here. Tara leapt over a large rock and hurled herself into the fray, barely stopping to count the Darkspawn waiting for her on the far side. A cluster of soldiers had been ambushed by a small party of Genlocks and were being torn apart in the ensuing chaos.

Her blade caught the first Genlock in the chest, punching through the flimsy bits of leather and padding that let it move so quietly. Two more noticed her sudden entrance and rushed her with short blades already dripping with blood. Tara made space for herself, not allowing them to come at her from both sides, and took the duel with the first Genlock handily. Shorter blades were easier to handle but you had to worry about your enemy’s reach, and the Darkspawn were more vicious than they were disciplined. It tried to batter her blade aside and might have succeeded if Tara had not anticipated the move. This one fell with guttural laughter, Tara’s blade sliding between its ribs, and its partner soon joined it.

The soldiers still alive rallied when they had someone there to stand beside. Tara slew another pair of Darkspawn skirmishers before it was done and she knelt to clean her blade on one of the bodies while her soldiers regrouped.

“Commander,” one of them said, gasping for breath as he clutched a wound to his side. “We can’t hold them much longer. There’s too many of them.”

The sounds of fighting were all around them, and even if Tara could not see the battle playing out from here, she knew that what the man said was true. She cast a glance westward and was disgusted to find nothing but rocks and trees, her convenient panorama left behind at the top of the hill.

“We need to give them more time.” Tara stood, sword in hand and committed to her task. “Take your squad back to the edge of the valley. Find Captain Varel, he’ll be gathering the reserves for the push to Redcliffe.”

“With respect, ma’am, we aren’t out of this yet.” It would have been more convincing if the man could stand up straight. But looking at his soldiers, she knew he spoke the truth. Every one of them looked hurt but ready to pick up their swords and march straight into the Deep Roads on a dare.

Tara smirked and nodded, acknowledging the courage she could only dream of equaling. “Very well. Come with me. We’ll give these monsters a battle they won’t forget and even the Archdemon will keep well clear of Redcliffe.”

A few of the soldiers whooped and the wounded man grinned viciously. Maker, to think she would have abandoned these people after Ostagar.

The man gestured down the hill. “They hit us hard past those rocks. A few of us came back to handle these ones picking us off behind the lines. If we can push these ones back and dig in, we can hold on for however long you need.”

At least they didn’t lack confidence. “Then let’s push them back.”

Saying proved far easier than doing, in this case. The Darkspawn had noticed the undefended hillside and were eager to get around behind what remained of the army, cutting short this dramatic last stand and turning it into a massacre. What began as a few Darkspawn scouts became a steady stream of creatures emerging from the treeline to trundle their way uphill, their pace slow enough to make a mockery of the entire battle. They knew this was inevitable. They knew, sooner or later, everyone on this hillside would be dead. They were simply refusing to die tired.

Those were the first. As more of her soldiers fell wounded, more of the Darkspawn began to run, frenzied by the sight of easy prey. Tara pushed her way to the front, shouting for her people to fall back. They had bought enough time here. Her soldiers obeyed and started pulling back, leaving Tara out in front of a sea of grinning, hungry faces.

This was how it had to be. This was how they survived. Bleed them, little by little, until they back through Redcliffe’s gates and slam them closed. Just a little further, she thought as she began withdrawing up the hill. Just a little more.

Her vision went white as something struck her across the side. She yelped and threw herself away by instinct, spinning to face whatever had gotten in behind her.

And saw a man in shining metal armor, emblazoned with the Sword of Mercy, holding a blade that now dripped with her own blood. She scarcely had time to shout. “What is wrong with you?!”

The Darkspawn were still behind her and they did not care who had betrayed whom, only that one foolish human had presented her back to them. Now panicked, the blood pounding in her ears, Tara darted her gaze madly back and forth, watching as three Hurlocks advanced on her at a dead run.

Ser Aubrecht stayed where he was, determined to keep Tara’s back to the Darkspawn as he answered calmly. “You should not have interfered with our work, Commander.”

“That cannot be what’s on your mind right now!” Tara managed to turn aside the blow of one of the creatures but could only scamper away as the other two came in before she could finish it off. The creatures looked to Ser Aubrecht but only one seemed to decide he was worthy of its attention.

“You think you know that apostate bitch, don’t you? You think she is a friend,” Ser Aubrecht continued as he raised his shield against the Darkspawn, knocking it aside and skewering it while it was off balance. “They’re all the same. They will reach inside your head and twist you until you are her puppet. If ever you backed her into a corner, if ever she was given a chance, that is what she will do.”

Tara saw him attend to his Darkspawn and took the moment to lunge back at the ones pursuing her. Her left side felt warm as her shirt began to stick to her skin from all the blood, but at least it was her left. With her right, she slapped aside the wild swings of the first frenzied Hurlock and managed to wound it badly in the leg. The second still pursued her as she backed away, shouting.

“You don’t think she had a thousand of those chances?” More noise behind her and a lucky glance over her shoulder stopped her from backing up straight into a Genlock. With a bit more luck, she managed to leap forward and get around behind the Hurlock chasing her. But there were so many of them. The battlefield was in chaos. The Darkspawn were everywhere and this stupid bastard had chosen now, of all times, to settle a score.

“You were useful to her without her interference,” he said lazily, following her but keeping an eye on the Darkspawn. “Or perhaps she has infected you already. You are likely nothing more than a thrall. I should have seen it before.”

Tara gritted her teeth and stopped, ducking beneath the swing of the Hurlock and stabbing for its throat. The pain in her side made her muscles spasm and she missed. Seeing its prey close at hand, the creature lunged for her and its monstrous hands closed around her throat.

With a desperate scream Tara managed to lash out and strike the monsters knee, buckling it and sending it toppling. The Genlock was right beside it stabbing for her thighs and aiming to butcher her on the ground. Again, she jumped back, barely keeping ahead of it. Her blade felt sluggish in one hand but she found herself keeping her arm close to her side in an effort to stop the bleeding and keep the pain from distracting her too much.

Ser Aubrecht slashed violently at another Genlock, taking off its head without breaking stride. “Have you ever seen them when they’re made Tranquil? It’s a wonderful thing. So peaceful. So serene. So… pliable.”

More Darkspawn were boiling up the slope behind her. She would not survive being penned in like this, not forever. She had to kill him, and Maker if he wasn’t making it an attractive prospect. “And here I thought you wanted justice.”

“I do.” With no Darkspawn about, Ser Aubrecht moved in for the kill, shield raised and sword tinged black and red. “And I will have it. But first, I will have satisfaction, and I will make her pay for what her kind does when left unchecked.”

Tara had known men like Ser Aubrecht before. She had known more than she cared to count. But for all that, she had never faced one wearing full armor on a killing field with nothing but a sword and a bit of cloth to protect her. She winced, glancing down at where the blood was staining her shirt. Her chain shirt would have deflected the blow and left her with nothing but a bruise and a bad attitude. It had been a foolish gesture, giving it up, and one she probably should have regretted.

Her sword hung heavy in one hand, but she gripped it tight and steadied her feet. She had never faced one like this, but they had never faced her so armed, either.

Ser Aubrecht came on methodically and with the confidence his armor engendered, and so he did not expect Tara to make the first move. She darted forward, sword poking toward the visor and forcing his shield higher. He was quick, she admitted, and nearly caught her with a thrust of his own that went just wide to her left.

His blade came toward her again, this time hacking for her neck and nearly finding it as Tara ducked beneath the swing. She scrambled to the side, feet struggling to find purchase on a grassy slope now slick with blood. Again he hammered away at her, forcing her back until she was backing up the hill. Her moves were slowed by the pain in her side and each swing seemed to come closer to finding its mark. The last struck sparks off her own blade and forced her to one knee that smashed painfully into an exposed rock.

“Stand and face me, coward,” he called as he put his weight behind what would surely be the final swing. “You cannot save her. Face your Maker with dignity.”

The sword flashed in the afternoon light, carving a path that would have split Tara’s skull in two had she let it. Instead, it whistled harmlessly through the air, the swing putting him just off balance enough to give Tara the chance she needed. One foot set against the rock, she lashed out with the other, striking Aubrecht in the side, perfectly where his leg joined his hip.

The slick ground, the wild swing, and the heavy armor all sent Ser Aubrecht to one knee before he went crashing down the side of the hill. He did not go far, perhaps only ten feet after he stopped rolling, but it was more than enough. As he struggled to his feet and went to retrieve his sword, Tara only needed to back away and watch.

And all she did was watch as the Darkspawn took him. The first Hurlock took a mortal wound beneath the thigh but soon one came with a warhammer to crack open that heavy shell. The Templar struggled to rise beneath the weight of the creatures, shouting and cursing as they overwhelmed him. The one with the massive hammer brought it down against his legs, grinning and laughing as it ruined the flesh and bone within.

The man’s last moments were the same as any others. She could hear him shouting “Maker! Help me! Do not forsake your faithful!”

Tara looked up the hill to see her soldiers still fighting against the Darkspawn. If any of them had noticed the skirmish, none of them had come to help.

Until an arrow fell from the blue, piercing Aubrecht’s helm and ending his nightmare once and for all. She already knew what to look for even before she saw it. A flash of golden robes and red hair from one of the ridges far up the hill was all that Leliana allowed her to see before she disappeared.

Tara looked back at the body of Ser Aubrecht and watched the Darkspawn scream in fury at the mercy of the distant Chantry sister. Some went charging in the direction she had disappeared, forgetting the dead man completely except to toss the corpse further down the hill. A few of the Darkspawn turned toward her and began to advance, as though to remind her that no one would care what happened here. This was a Blight. What were the sins of one more faithless man in the face of their trespasses so long ago?

With a deep, painful breath, she readied her sword and began retreating up the hill, calling to her soldiers. “Pull back! We make for Redcliffe! Stay together!”

Her breath caught. Something moved on the hilltop. Not Darkspawn, not corrupted or dead but hopeful. A flash of red and silver. Then another, and another.

“Wait!” Bethany ran forward, too terrified to believe it was possible but too desperate to turn away. More quietly, she whispered, praying “Please. Please be alive.”

Though none of the figures that spilled over the ridge were the woman she was searching for, it did not matter. She turned back to the soldiers behind her, realizing that she had dashed forward farther than she had thought. “It’s them! They’re alive!”

No one answered. She swung her head back toward the battle, watching the survivors creep into view, hacking and slashing and pushing their way slowly toward Redcliffe. Below them, howling in contempt, the Darkspawn pushed back. Anyone could plainly see they were outnumbered. They would never survive this without help. No one could.

But if they were still fighting, Tara had to be alive. She had to be.

Again she whirled on the waiting mass of silent faces. “What?!”

Silence greeted her. Only the demons whispered back, with promises of power and the strength to wipe every Darkspawn off the face of Ferelden. She could be the hero. She could save them all. Her knuckles went white around the staff. She would do this. She had to.

And she would do it her damn self.

The ground began to shake. Hoofbeats, hundreds of them, built to the echo as Bethany looked toward the road out of the village. There, in ranks of red and gold, came hundreds of men and women atop horses fitted with gleaming steel of their own. Shouts and cries now familiar to her ears sounded as the cavalry began to spread out along the plain, facing the blackened hills just a few thousand feet from where they stood.

She should not have been surprised when Miriam rode up beside her, another horse following just behind. “We’re all going to die doing this, you know. Just thought I’d mention that.”

“Thank you.” Bethany took the horn and hauled herself onto the back of the massive white stallion. Staff in one hand, reins in the other, she guided the horse into line with her sister’s as more riders filled in around them, Tara’s soldiers backing away even as some shouted for spare mounts. How could Tara not see how much she meant to them?

More riders began to form ranks behind them, their nervous murmurs lost amidst the clatter of weapons and the stamp of hooves. Where else but the front of the line would Miriam guide her. She felt her mouth go dry and her heart begin smashing at her ribs, desperate to get out of this suicidal body.

“There’s so many,” a woman beside her said under her breath, stealing the thought from Bethany’s own lips. She looked toward her and found a girl no older than herself clutching a spear and shield. “Is this it? Is this the Blight?”

Bethany nodded.

The girl’s eyes somehow grew wider, her mouth opening in a rictus of terror as she took a deep breath. “This is - oh, Maker, guide my arm. Forgive me. I should have told him. I should have said something.”

Miriam’s hand clasped her arm and Bethany left the girl to her frantic prayers. “Hey. Before we go -”

“I know.” Even when certain death awaited them, she would not force her sister into a serious goodbye. It would be too cruel.

Her sister beamed. “Just wanted to remind you.”

Not the last words she had imagined for herself, but they would have to do. She took one last glance over her shoulder toward Redcliffe village but only saw more terrified faces beneath polished helms. Somewhere back there, she knew, Mother would be watching her last two children ride into the Archdemon’s maw.

“I’ll look after her.” Miriam squeezed her arm, drawing her gaze once more. “And I know you will, too, if it comes to it.”

The sound of galloping hooves prevented her from answering. She looked forward, toward Tara and the Horde, toward the open ground between them that looked a thousand miles across and yet so close she could reach out and touch the Darkspawn beyond, and saw another rider. Red cloak trailing behind him, the man carried a sword rather than a spear and wore a helmet styled like a roaring lion.

It should have been Tara. If it had been Tara leading this charge, she would have gone knowing they were invincible.

“Courage! Courage, soldiers!” he shouted, guiding his horse into a trot before the readied cavalry. “The Blight is upon us, and with us lies the only defense of Redcliffe! The castle gates are barred, the ramparts walked only by the dead. The King is dead, and the army is far afield. I know all of you would have ridden gladly to battle at Ostagar, but that time has passed, and the enemy has come to us.”

“Not much for inspiration, is he?” Miriam muttered as the man cantered past.

Across the field, the Horde howled and formed a line of its own, banging swords and shields together, daring them to come on. They still held some of Tara's soldiers at the front, forcing them to their knees before cutting them down. Her grip on the reins tightened until her knuckles were white.

“But take heart! Those soldiers have fought since Ostagar! They fight even now to keep your families safe! They have not given in!” The man turned his horse and pointed at the hillside where the last of Tara’s soldiers fought on against the tide of encroaching blackness. “We are all that stands between those creatures and the Chantry doors below! There is no castle keep to shelter in, no walls to defend with oil and arrows! We will meet them here, on this field, and we will turn them aside! They will not take Redcliffe without a fight! The Blight is upon us! Now! Show these monsters they should fear Ferelden steel! For Ferelden!”

Horns blared from all around, enough to shake her ribs and make her chest feel like it would explode from all the sound, but even above that was carried the roar of those around her. She heard herself shouting along with them as she surged forward with all the rest, charging toward certain death and determined to spit in its face before it took her.

“For Ferelden!”

Just like at Ostagar, Tara clung to the bit of high ground she had found amidst the carnage and watched as the Darkspawn crashed like waves around her. This was what the end of the world looked like, she thought as two more Hurlocks charged her. The first one fell quickly but the second one nearly got her in the neck as she dodged around their wild swings, her own blade slipping between the jagged metal plates the creatures wore as armor.

Head back and shouting to wake the dead, she watched as what was left of her army staggered beneath the weight of the Horde. “Keep together! Your strength has carried you this far! Do not abandon hope now!”

Beside her, two men fighting side by side were overwhelmed by a single swing from a massive Hurlock maul. Screaming, Tara hurled herself at the creature, pushing her sword up beneath its shoulder to slay it but not before it brought the hammer down on the chest of one of those struggling on the ground.

Another Hurlock charged her, warbling its undead battle cry. Tara ducked to the side, bringing her sword up parry the blow before throwing herself forward and pushing her own sword into its throat.

Her back screamed, causing a cry of pain to escape her even as the Hurlock fell gurgling miserably in front of her. Maker take that Blighted Templar. If he was trying to kill her, he could have at least made it quick. All around her were dozens of Darkspawn, standing just beyond the reach of her blade, all waiting for her to tire so they could drag her off.

She went to move farther up the hill but stopped when she saw the figures behind her were not her own soldiers but more Darkspawn. The last bit of flashing steel crested the hill and began to move down toward Redclife with her remaining in the shadows just below the lip. It was fitting, honestly. At last her luck had caught up with her. At last she had made a mistake that her heroic mage could not save her from.

“Come on, then,” she shouted, pointing at a gaggle that shrank back the moment her blade came forth. The sight was so insane it drove her to laughter. “Come on and finish it. You aren’t the first to try and I promise I’ll make you work for it. The Maker owed me finer death than you creatures can give me.”

But the Horde did not move. It stood around her, swarming but unwilling to come closer. Some snarled and hissed and shouted wordlessly with open maws, but none moved except to jostle one another.

Until those in front of her parted, making way for a creature that chilled her to the bone. A creature with blood across its brow and a horrible look in its eyes. It strode between the ranks of waiting Darkspawn, coming almost within range of a quick lunge from Tara’s blade. She realized then, with dawning horror, that this was different from the monster that had tried to kill Bethany. This one carried a great blade that it stabbed into the earth, grinning broadly as it faced her.

The creature looked lazily from left to right, all the Darkspawn that fell beneath its gaze growling in angry deference. Tara could hear the Darkspawn behind her, still clashing with soldiers whose screams were growing further away by the second. After what seemed an eternity, it looked to Tara, grin splitting its face.

And _spoke._

“Where?”


	17. Firestorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tara faces off against a talking Darkspawn as Bethany rides to the rescue

The noise gave Tara pause, and as some few could attest, she was not at her best when taken unawares. “You can talk. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Some,” it growled in annoyance. “Not all. I am made to speak. Now I speak, for you but not for you. I am made to seek the other, the one you keep from us. You will give her to us and you will live. These are my words. Now you will speak, human. Where?”

Maker’s breath, how did one girl from Ferelden’s unwashed armpit gather so much attention?

Tara looked at the surrounding Darkspawn doubtfully. “You’ve got a funny way of asking.”

“I ask because that is what the master demands.” The sword twisted in the ground noisily. Good to know she was negotiating on evenly-irritated footing. “Now I ask. Now I make my demand in turn because now you cannot deny me. Deny and you will be taken, and beneath the earth the answer will be wrung from what remains of your broken body. A mercy is granted here that you are not broken yet. The question is asked while your mind is yours.”

Tara again winced as the pain in her shoulder flared. “How sweet of you.”

“Merciful. Weak. An act I hate but it is the master’s will, so I must obey. Tell us where the other is. The one with the cloth of blood about her neck. The one with hair as black as the deep. The one with the blood of hawk.”

Merciful and poetic. She had never really appreciated the mindless gabbling of the Darkspawn before but she was already beginning to miss it as this one gnashed its teeth and tilted its head back and forth. Buying herself a moment, she cast another look to either side, and for the first time noticed how fine a view there was behind her. Lake Calenhad sparked in the sunlight, gleaming like a polished circlet with Redcliffe castle as the gem at its center.

And outside Redcliffe village, gathered together and safe, were the refugees. Safe. Tara felt herself smiling. “Sorry,” she said, turning back to the creature. “Not ringing any bells.”

“Liar. Confidence will not save you. Do not force me to strip you of it here. You will be made to answer, here or in the dark.” The creature again twisted its blade in anger. “Speak! You know her! You protect her!”

“And what is it you want with her?” Tara asked, gripping her own blade more tightly.

“That does not matter. The master seeks her. You will give her.” Now the creature pulled its blade free and dragged it across the earth between them. “And your screams will fill the deep. Your pain will grow until all you remember is her. Your mind will break and you wonder why you did not give in. Why you did not save yourself the pain.”

“How terribly romantic.” Tara again chanced a look back toward the city and allowed herself a smile. “She is beyond your reach now. You were too slow.”

“Beyond? No.” The Darkspawn raised the blade in one hand and leveled it toward the city. The thing probably weighed as much as Tara did. “You have saved no one. You have only delayed. We will march, continue, take this city while you watch. She will be found. She will be taken. And so will you. You will be made to kneel, to submit, and to watch as this thing you have done is unmade before your eyes. She will break, and so will you.”

The sound of horns in the distance drew the creature’s eyes. Tara dared not look, but she knew the sound well, and she could see more than enough in the expression of the creature. Bethany was safe - was - and had now decided to put herself back in harm’s way. She was one of a kind.

It looked at her with such hate, then, that Tara felt much better about those threats of eternal suffering not coming to pass. “You,” it gestured toward the creatures around it. “Kill them all. Bring any with magic to me. This one will suffer. I wish to see it crawl.”

Tara flipped her sword in one hand, ignoring the continuing pain in her shoulder. She was starting to appreciate the man who had just wanted to kill her and be done with it.

The creature came at her faster than it had any right to and Tara nearly died posing for the occasion. Her own blade glanced the larger one to the side, stopping it from lopping off her right arm and sending it into the dirt with a loud clang. Her hand shivered violently and she nearly dropped her sword from the impact.

Before she could steady her feet, the monster threw itself at her shoulder-first, catching Tara on her heels of her feet and launching her backward. On dulled instinct, she tucked herself into a roll, shoulder screaming as she righted herself just in time to see the Darkspawn take another long stride toward her, blade coming down like a black bolt of lightning.

This time she managed to pull herself to one side, again watching as the blade crashed into the ground and sent a shower of dirt skyward. But she was already moving, surging forward to get behind the monster and put her blade somewhere its armor did not cover. Chain covered its head and neck, but metal plates clung to its body the way they clung to all the other Darkspawn. Beneath the arm, there would be nothing.

Her blade struck true, but again her hand shivered at the impact and the point of her sword went wide.

Barely given time to curse, she leapt into the air, pulling her knees to her chest to avoid having them separated from her feet. The creature roared as it spun, bringing a fist toward Tara’s face and forcing her to drop beneath it. A chain shirt Tara hidden beneath its rags now seemed painfully obvious. She chanced a look at its legs, in part to avoid the kick she knew was coming, but also to look for anything not covered in metal. The armor there was thick and jointed at the knee and, as Tara pulled herself to the side of a blow aimed for her ribs, she saw small rings of metal shining where there should have been exposed flesh.

She knew this was not a fight she could win fairly. If she was at her best, she might have had a chance, but even then it would have probably come down to luck. As it was, she was hurt, out of practice, and slowed from exhaustion, while this creature seemed tireless and very determined to see her motionless on the ground, previous threats be damned.

There was only one thing left to do. This thing knew where Bethany was and it would not stop until it reached her. It had to die, and it had to die here.

When the next blow came crashing down, Tara threw herself to the side and made herself stumble. Injured as she was, it wasn’t hard to fake. She nearly went to the ground, letting out a very real scream of agony and exertion.

The Darkspawn took its chance. Dirt erupted from where the greatsword came crashing down but the blade rose faster even than the kicked-up bits of rock and grass. It took two fast steps forward, correcting its balance from a swing that would have sent any human reeling from the effort and lunging forward to end it.

The point of the greatsword snapped out and struck like a snake. Pain shattered her mind and her vision went white as it tore through her leg. She had expected it to hit her chest. It would have only been fair. She had, after all, gone in for the kill.

Her own strike had found its mark, too, and had done so with the same blinding speed as the Darkspawn, only hers had been aimed for the head.

The Darkspawn made no noise as it died, Tara’s sword piercing its eternal grin and punching through the back of its skull. Its eyes stared, glassy and unseeing, at the human it should have killed. Its greatsword thumped to the ground beside them. The surrounding Darkspawn had gone almost quiet.

As the Darkspawn’s life expired, its legs gave out and Tara found herself dragged forward on top of it, clinging to her sword as her own wounded leg buckled. Her eyes beginning to sting as her vision blurred with tears, she pulled hard on the hilt of her stuck blade, feeling the monster’s skull wrench and shift but refuse to give up its stubborn grip. She knew it wasn’t over. The Darkspawn were still here. She was beaten.

Tara pushed herself up with a defiant howl, preferring at least to die on her knees. She hardly expected to make it even that far. With their leader dead, the Darkspawn would surely sense easy prey and pile on her, and, if she was lucky, kill her where she lay. Better to die here than to be dragged underground. She would sooner cut her own throat than let them take her.

But when she raised herself above the body, reaching for her dagger to take her own life, the Darkspawn had not lunged for her. They looked at one another, more afraid than they were angry. Some punched and shoved their comrades, pointing at her and yelling wordlessly. If they did not try to kill her, perhaps she would be made their leader.

One finally gathered up the courage to start forward, giving Tara enough time to raise herself up on her one good leg. With enormous effort, she tugged her sword free of the creature’s corpse and tried to step back into a defensive stance. The moment she did, her leg nearly buckled, but she kept the blackened blade between her and the advancing Hurlock.

That seemed to give it pause. A few more started to venture forward, thrusting their swords at her from a safe distance. Tara kept backing up, looking behind her furtively.

More Darkspawn came up the hill behind her. They, too, looked nervous and stayed out of her reach, but she was surrounded. Surrounded and alone and very aware of the warmth now seeping from her leg and back. Her left side felt completely useless. This was the end and she knew it.

“Come on, then,” she growled, grasping her sword and pushing away the hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. No matter what she faced, she had sworn she would never go quietly again. “Who wants to die next?”

The Darkspawn began to shift along the hillside, forming lines against the coming charge. Horns blew loud enough to make her deaf but still she could hear their eager howls mixing with the battle cries now rising in defiance all around her. For all she knew, she was screaming too.

Her horse seemed to know what pace to set and kept her in line with the other riders, her sister holding her greatsword in one hand just beside her and urging her own beast on like it was a race to get there first. Staff clutched tight in one hand, she held the reins loose in the other and felt herself ducking down to make herself smaller in the saddle. There were more than spears in those ranks. She could see archers stabbing arrows into the earth as they lined up and began to ready their shots, bows raised high in homicidal ecstasy. They could hardly miss. There were so many of them. They would never even reach the army alive.

And then she saw it. Standing on its own, staff of bones resting on the ground beside it, was the Darkspawn that had tried to take her. It was here. It had followed her.

And she was racing toward it as fast as four legs could carry her. There was no turning back now, no hiding behind Redcliffe’s walls or running overland to Gwarren in the hopes that someone else would stop the Blight. She had committed.

She saw the first arrows as a swarm of flies on the horizon, buzzing toward them too fast to do more than duck and hope they missed. The falling shafts found shields, armor, and flesh, and screams of agony now rose to join the cries of murder. The woman beside her took two arrows in her shield and kept on riding while Miriam just lowered her head and urged her mount forward. Others weren’t so lucky, but the rest rode on.

The strange Darkspawn began to tap its staff against the earth and Bethany could feel the magic building. She remembered what it had done to her the last time they met and panic seized her. She was going to die. They were all going to die.

Horns blew, hooves beat against the earth, and Bethany’s eyes caught something gleaming in the light atop the hill. A banner, carried all the way from Ostagar, flapped in defiance of the darkness closing all around it. She could imagine Tara standing beneath it, bloodied but unbroken.

It was all she needed. Her hand left the saddle’s horn and began to make practiced motions in the air beside her. Spellcasting was a difficult and dangerous art, but she was Ferelden born, raised at the edge of the Hinterlands, and she knew how to ride.

More arrows tore vicious, screaming arcs toward the riders but turned to ash on the breeze as Bethany waved her hand, already moving from one incantation to the next. She could feel the Darkspawn’s will clashing with her own, testing her, trying to cut her off from the Fade even as the demons did their best to rip the hole open wider. She could not stop them all, but around her fell only darkened specks of dust rather than the death that should have found them.

The Darkspawn began working up its own spells and she felt fire building in the air. They were close to the lines now, so close she could see the faces of the Darkspawn holding spears and swords ready to meet the coming charge.

When the last arrows came, it was all Bethany could do to shield herself, a shaft bursting into splints just in front of her horse’s chest. The Darkspawn howled and goaded them to come on. The strange Darkspawn raised its hands to let loose a firestorm that would consume everyone around her. There was no hope of stopping it, no chance of turning aside so much power and sending it back to the Fade.

Her own fire got there first.

The first meteor slammed into the ground just behind the Darkspawn mage, knocking it forward and releasing the spell it had worked so hard to craft. Wind and fire burst around it, consuming nearby Darkspawn in a chaotic blast of burning air. The mage itself survived, staggering to its feet and howling in rage as it stared Bethany down.

The next ball of fire, called from above the charging cavalry and unseen by the Darkspawn mage, roared overhead and slammed into the earth to raise a geyser of smoke and dirt into the sky. Another followed, and another, and so did a dozen more until the Darkspawn were reeling at their center. Where once a line of spears and shields had waited for the rushing horses, now there were broken pockets of confused and angry Darkspawn.

One final blast of the horns rang out as the cavalry closed the last distance between them and the Blight and, for the first time since Ostagar, the army did not run, but attacked. Darkspawn bodies were knocked to the ground and trampled beneath hundreds upon hundreds of armored hooves. The archers that had taken so many lives now abandoned the arrows they had placed at their feet, turning back to the hill and the soldiers they had tried so hard to break.

The Darkspawn mage, once so terrifying and invincible, now stood before the unstoppable tide of humanity and tried once more to summon fire from thin air. This time, it was Bethany who cut it off, who took the magic it wished to pull from the Fade and pushed it out of reach.

It was Miriam who got there first, overtaking Bethany just before they reached it and cutting it clean in half with a swing from her greatsword. Overtaken by the other riders, Bethany let her horse fall back behind the lines, the other soldiers surging around her and toward Tara’s army. Those at the top of the hill cheered and fought like abominations, cutting Darkspawn down left and right and pushing their way down toward Redcliffe.

Bethany watched from her horse as cavalry surged up the slope, slicing through the Darkspawn lines and pushing them back. It looked impossible. The Horde had never stopped, never slowed in its pursuit since Lothering. It had always been so invincible.

She never thought she would see them run.

So many now took to their heels, turning their backs on the charging army and pounding their way back over the hill, back toward the Deep Roads and whatever hole they had crawled out of. Now she heard herself shouting and was almost surprised to hear laughter in her voice. They had done it. They were alive.

Riding to the edge of where Tara’s soldiers had made their stand, she dismounted and began pushing her way through the crowd. So many were hurt, but so many more were giving chase, determined to pay the Darkspawn back for weeks of constant terror. She found it almost impossible not to join them.

Almost. She pushed her way through the first of those making their way to Redcliffe and began looking for the one that had led them here, the one who had saved them time and again. “Tara! Tara!”

She should have known Bethany would come back.

What she had not expected was for her to come back with an army and to turn back the entire Horde in the process. She had thought the Darkspawn were afraid of her after she had fought the big one on her own, but when the Hinterlands had started blowing up around them, she realized it was probably someone else they were scared shitless of.

Half running, half limping down the hill, she heard Bethany’s voice calling out somewhere from the seething chaos. She had to laugh when she finally found her. She hadn’t planned on living through this and she had certainly not planned to be saved by a woman she had so badly mistreated.

But here she was, and there Bethany was, staff in hand, turning about and shouting her chosen name. Tara raised one arm and waved at her. “I thought I got rid of you!”

Bethany’s eyes latched onto hers and the biggest grin broke over her face. She didn’t say anything, just laughed and ran at her.

Tara found herself laughing, too, dropping her sword to the ground as she realized Bethany was not slowing down. “Wait, I -”

Too late. Bethany slammed into her, staff cast to the ground, arms wrapped around her neck and legs around her waist. Tara barely suppressed a yelp as her leg gave out and she went down on one knee. With a groan, she managed to fall backward, carrying a giggling Bethany with her.

When she settled down, still catching her breath from both the battle and the unexpected reunion, she found herself looking up at Bethany’s smiling face so close to her own that she had to push the other woman’s hair out of her eyes.

She tried to say something witty, keep her composure, do anything but smile and laugh and look like a complete fool. She failed. At least Bethany had no better luck. Still sitting on top of her, pinning her to the ground in a very thoughtless but very pleasant way, Bethany leaned forward, hands brushing the sides of her face and tracing lovely lines down the side of her neck.

The very dangerous, unpredictable apostate now grinned broadly, a cat on top of her mouse. “Hello.”

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Tara admitted, in more a bewildered than romantic way, despite being flat on her back and breathless.

“You told me to go to Redcliffe,” Bethany said easily. “You didn’t say I couldn’t leave again.”

“You really are terrible at following orders.”

“I’m very good at following orders, as long as they’re orders I like,” Bethany teased, enjoying her triumph and shifting her balance to better suit it.

The shift brought her knee into Tara’s wounded side, causing her to let out an involuntary gasp of pain. She wrenched away on instinct and, when she fixed on those amber eyes, they were filled with the compassion and concern that had led them to this moment. It was not unwelcome, and it would never be less than beautiful to see, but it did leave Tara feeling hungry despite her pain.

“You’re hurt.” Bethany sat back, pushing herself up and further from where Tara so badly wanted her to be.

“It’s nothing,” she lied, reaching toward her leg and wondering where all that blood had come from. It couldn’t have all been hers; she wouldn’t have had any left.

But Bethany was less of an idiot than Tara, and she went to work quickly trying to save the wounded leg. Tara let herself be healed, closing her eyes and feeling the comforting waves wash over her, taking the pain away and replacing it with dull aches and an overwhelming feeling of satisfied exhaustion. So many days on the road, so many wounds left hidden for lack of time to treat them, so little time left to close her eyes and sleep.

Lying there in the grass, she began to realize how long it had been since she had laid down. The wind brushed against her as she lay still at last, carrying the worried chastisements of her healer. “What in the Maker’s name makes you think this isn’t bad? You shouldn’t be walking on this - you shouldn’t be able to walk at all! What were you thinking? I should have been there with you. You say I don’t look after myself, but who is always right beside me, throwing herself at the Darkspawn?”

She went on and on in a tirade Tara would have loved to hear, for surely she deserved it, but she found the voice fading away even as she tried so hard to keep it in her mind. New sounds rose about it, new voices, new cries and plaintive curses that called an absent god to face justice for his crimes.

Tara wanted to keep her eyes closed. She wanted desperately to pull Bethany close and forget everything that had happened. She had all but forgotten where she was and what surrounded her, but that world had not forgotten her.

Slowly, bit by bit, ignoring pointedly the worried stare she got from Bethany, she rose to her feet and turned to see what it was a battle won looked like. It was, as Bethany helped her up by the arm, no different from a battle lost. She could have been at Ostagar, rising from the dead and facing the mounds of corpses that had once been her friends. She could have replaced the wailing cries of survivors kneeling over familiar bodies with Darkspawn and that would have been the only difference.

Perhaps seeing her eyes, Bethany said something sweet and brave and then showed herself far more a hero than Tara ever was. She set out at a run, never thinking of her own safety, never feeling her own exhaustion, and found the first broken body that still contained a shred of life. There she stayed, bloodying her hands and arms and surely pushing herself to the point of breaking as she tried to save those almost at the Maker’s side.

Tara did nothing. She stood and stared and felt tears begin streaming down her face. She looked out on a world of broken swords and torn banners, of mangled bodies and blasted earth, and knew that all of this was hers.

She looked out on the world and, in the end, she broke.


	18. Promise Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany pulls Tara back from the brink

Bethany reached the limits of her strength too soon. Her hands and arms were coated in dirt and grime and blood but she had not yet done enough. There were still more hurt soldiers, more survivors staggering from the treeline that needed help she wished so badly she had the strength to give.

No demons whispered to her now, and for once she missed their bargains. One life for these thousands, one weak and foolish mind in trade to mend a strong and brilliant one, to replace the branches that had at last withered and broken after so much drought and fire with new growth that had a single rose at its heart. She had done it before, after all, and Tara deserved for her to do it once again.

Unable to push herself any further, Bethany stood, sparing a cantrip to cleanse her hands and face before returning to Tara’s side. If she heard her coming, she did not look up.

Bethany looked down at the disheveled hair and hollow eyes and wished she were better when it came to words. “Tara?”

Not knowing how to take this pain away, she should not have been surprised when Tara did not move or answer. After a moment there was a shift, a sort of twitch in her arm and at the edge of her eye as though a part of her had heard her chosen name, but that was all.

She knelt to take Tara’s hand, placing the other beneath her shoulder and began coaxing her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

Tara stumbled as Bethany began to walk, digging in her heels. “No. I can’t. I have to see this.”

“You’ve seen enough,” she murmured, again pulling gently at Tara’s arm. “There’s nothing more you could have done. You need to rest. Please, Tara. Let me help you.”

“I killed them, Bethany.” Tara muttered. After a moment, when Bethany tried again, Tara let herself be led, and she offered a small prayer to the Maker for having the slightest bit of mercy.

“You didn’t kill these people. You saved them, remember? You saved all of us. You brought them all the way from Ostagar or Lothering or a dozen other places. All of us are only here because of you.”

She was trying to be firm, but harshness did not come easily to her, and being harsh with Tara proved impossible. Instead, she sounded pleading and pathetic, hardly the kind of comfort that Tara so desperately deserved.

“I should have saved them.”

Again, she tried to be stern. “Don’t talk like that. I won’t have it, do you hear me? You’re not allowed to fall apart, not after I nearly lost you just this morning.”

Something like a smile played at the corner of Tara’s lips and Bethany felt one of her own spreading as it did. At least she was good for something. If she could not be fierce or firm, so long as she could pull Tara back from whatever darkness now enthralled her, she would not mind at all.

She had led Tara off the battlefield, to the south and along a ridge until at least the stench of death had faded. Ahead of them, Lake Calenhad glittered blue and brilliant white, as peaceful and beautiful a sight as could be wanted. Fishing boats plied the waters lazily, birds circling overhead, waiting for a moment’s inattention. There was no Blight here, or there hadn’t been until they had brought it with them.

It was easy, then, to wish for better days so that she might spend a few of them here, sitting beside Tara as they watched the great windmill turn and ensuring no thoughts of war or pain or sleepless nights ever entered Tara’s mind. She deserved to think of easier times and smaller things.

But when at last they stopped on the hillside just above the ridge, Tara twisted in her grip and turned back slowly to face the death they had left behind.

Bethany refused to let her. She reached forward, taking both her and Tara by surprise, her hand finding purchase on Tara’s neck and cheek as she refused to let her look away. Tara froze at the touch, letting Bethany cup her face and chin in one hand, those intense and brilliant eyes finding hers once again. Tears still clung like snowmelt at their corners, the ice in them now so soft and fragile in the newfound heat of early spring.

And Tara did not move. She stayed still, letting Bethany’s hand trace the outline of her jaw. She stayed still, and slowly a bit of light began to shine from the fractured floes within.

“I can’t lose you,” Bethany heard herself saying as the two of them stood apart from all the world. It took so much for her to speak, not wanting Tara’s eyes on anything but her. “Look. Can you see the gates? Do you see how many people are passing through them now? All of them are here because of you. That’s what you told me to think of when all of this began. All the ones down there are safe, and they will have a chance, now, because of you. A chance to live and love that they never would have found otherwise. You did this for us. No one else. Please, Tara, if you find yourself thinking on how many lives we lost to get here, remember their lives, instead.”

Shimmering like the surface of Lake Calenhad, Tara’s eyes remained on hers, but turned to show things she had never seen in her before. She found herself glad to have already said her piece because she soon found her throat too tight to make a sound.

Tara’s hand came to rest on Bethany’s cheek, her fingers lingering just below her ear and making her head tilt of its own desire. “It’s very strange to think that I once believed you needed my protection. I must have gone through these last few weeks with my eyes closed. I should have known it was all of us that needed you and that the Blight could corrupt someone with so much good in them.”

Bethany felt her cheeks begin to redden and tried in vain to compose herself. “I don’t know where we’d be without you. Not just my family but all of us. Without you, I know for certain I would not be here. You’ve done so much for me, you know. I don’t know what I could ever do to repay that.”

Impossibly, then, Tara laughed, and for all its softness it was more than enough to pull all the tiredness from Bethany’s body. “Well, I do, Bethany Hawke. Do this one thing for me and whatever imagined debt you have to me will be paid in full. Nevermind that your magic got us here as surely as any pointing and yelling on my part.”

She could not help but laugh, even as she imagined what such a favor might include and how her thoughts on such idle fantasies had changed so completely in the last few days. “And what would you have me do, Commander?”

“Two things, now. The first is to never call me that again.” Tara said it with a stern look but Bethany was becoming used to those.

She could live with that. Tara sounded sweeter anyway. “Alright, I can do that. And the second?”

Tara looked her in the eyes, her hand tracing down Bethany’s arm until it reached her hand, the entwining of their fingers so natural and easy. For a moment, Bethany imagined being asked for a kiss, the favor of a maiden saved from a burning tower. It would have been a perfect ending to their utterly imperfect journey.

“I want you far from this, Bethany,” Tara said softly, showing nobility and virtue that Bethany wished for just a moment she did not have. “I want you safe. Take the ship to Gwarren with your family. Live out your life in the Free Marches and never look on Darkspawn blood again. Please. You deserve a life far from all of this.”

“And what of you?” she asked, suddenly frustrated that she was not being asked for something more. “Will you stay, fighting Darkspawn until the Archdemon lies dead?”

“Better me than you, and if this truly is a Blight, there will be need for people like me, with nothing to lose and some small skill with a blade. Bethany, you have a family that loves you. Go with them, keep them safe, keep your sister in line. They need you, and I would not have you spend your days fighting Darkspawn when you could be with them.”

“Nothing to lose?” Bethany snapped, letting her frustration boil over. “Are you so blind that you would think no one here cares for you, considers you their family? Do you think no one here loves you?”

The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She felt her face redden further, her lips clamping shut as she fought between sincerity and saying too much. It wasn’t her fault. Tara was being foolish and she was being foolish in their last moments together. After this, she might never see her again. She would go to Kirkwall and wonder every day if the heroic commander from Ostagar had survived. So much of her wanted to stay and fight.

Tara’s own lips curled in a small smile, her eyes going soft as she bent her head until her hair began to fall in Bethany’s eyes. It was no matter; she had already closed them. What she should have been asked for, and what she would have freely given, came without a word as Tara brought her lips to Bethany’s.

They made their own world, in that moment, a small corner of perfection in a burning, blasted land on which so many tears had fallen. There was only the hill and the windmill, the lake and the sun above, the apostate and her saving grace.

Bethany’s arms found Tara’s back, looped around her broad shoulders with the soft supplications of a woman who did not want this moment to end. She felt Tara’s hands clutch her around the small of her back and let herself be pulled in. It was easy to fall into her, to let herself be completely exposed and unaware in her arms. It felt so safe, like Tara could drive the world away and make it just the two of them, alone and away from everything.

It ended too soon, but Bethany was left breathless all the same. Tara’s face remained close to hers, her breath dancing along her chin as they held each other close.

“Promise,” Bethany whispered when she found her voice again. “Promise I’ll see you again.”

Tara’s laughter raised goosebumps on her skin. “You will. I promise.”

And she believed her. With all the horrors of the Blight still waiting for her, with nothing but herself and the ragged remains of Ferelden’s army to stand against the Archdemon’s hordes, Bethany still believed her.


	19. The Next Big Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany recounts her story of the Blight for her friends at the Hanged Man the night before the Deep Roads expedition

“You’re telling me you kissed the Hero of Ferelden?”

Bethany felt herself blushing even as she puffed her chest out a bit. “Would I lie to you, Varric?” she asked, plucking lazily at the silverite chain she still wore beneath her clothing.

From the stool next to her, Marian let out another loud groan, drowning her complaints in a mug of the Hanged Man’s unspeakably foul ale. Bethany nudged her sister with her elbow, sharply enough to tell her exactly what she thought of her disapproval. None of her romantic interests had gotten famous. None of them had stopped a Blight or slain an Archdemon.

“Well, Sunshine, if anyone could make running from the Darkspawn in tattered, sweaty rags romantic, it’d be you,” Varric chortled into his own drink.

Next to him, Merril had on the same, enraptured look she had worn through the entire tale. “That’s so amazing! Could you tell it again?”

Now it was Aveline who groaned wordlessly and Marian who gave the complaints voice. “Please, don’t.”

“I don’t know, Hawke, it was a long story. I’ve got to make sure I get all of it right.” Varric tapped the quill he had been taking notes with the whole time. At first, Bethany hadn’t noticed him doing it or she would have protested, but Varric was sneaky that way.

She had made sure to leave out what Tara had told her the night outside of Redcliffe. She wasn’t sure if anything would come of it, but it was far better that everyone here believed Tara was just another soldier with a mysterious past and a heroic destiny. Varric would certainly start looking into her, but then again, she was hardly a small figure in the world. The Hero of Ferelden was a famous woman, and now her every mystery would obsess every fledgling historian with a pot of ink and a bit of parchment.

“You didn’t ask for my side of it,” Aveline said from her place opposite Varric. It could hardly have been missed that the two were physically as far apart as the table would allow.

“I imagine it involves a lot of hitting Darkspawn with that big shield of yours,” Varric answered readily. “But Sunshine, here, was right there with the Hero. The best stories are the most human ones. I can only write about whacking Darkspawn in the face so many times before the readers get bored. Actually, that’s probably selling like hotcakes right now, so what do I know?”

Aveline made her unsatisfied noises that she practiced so often around Varric while the rest of the table chuckled good-naturedly at her expense.

“Don’t feel bad, Aveline. We’re about to go to a place where your ability to knock Darkspawn over will be valued far above anything Varric has to offer,” Marian said after setting down her mug.

“Bianca begs to differ.”

Aveline frowned. “I don’t know why you don’t just find paying work here. It would be a whole lot easier than looking for buried treasure.”

Bethany winced. She knew this whole expedition was because of her and she hated it. Maker, what would Tara say if she knew? If she knew she was going to be fighting this many Darkspawn anyway, she would have just stuck herself to Tara’s side and took her chances against the Horde. She wouldn’t have had anything to worry about, then. What Templar would come after someone protected by the Hero of Ferelden?

At least Marian was covering for her. “How much do you get paid, again?”

“Enough.” Aveline folded her arms defensively. “It’s not just about the pay, mind you. Working for the guard is a respectable job.”

Varric was mouthing along the exact words where Aveline couldn’t see him but Bethany easily could. It was her fault, really, for being so predictable.

When she finished, Marian continued to run interference. “Well, you know me. Respectable is my middle name. Unfortunately, I’m also currently living in a Lowtown shack that makes the Deep Roads look like the lap of luxury. If I have to spend one more night listening to Bethany dream about her girlfriend, I’m going to jump in the harbor.”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea, sister. The cold water might do you some good.”

Marian answered Bethany’s glare with a cheerful grin and the glare soon became a sulk. She might not have been dreaming about Tara, but she was certainly thinking about her. What must life be like for the Hero of Ferelden? Was she happy in Ferelden? Had she found somewhere she could stop running? Did she even remember her?

A letter had been sitting crumpled up in her pocket for months. The day they heard the news, Bethany had rushed home and started writing but had never gotten the courage to actually send it. She wasn’t even sure where she should be sending it. If Tara got a letter marked for the Hero of Ferelden, she would probably chuck it in a pile with all the other adoring messages and never get to it. It had to be perfect.

“That’s so romantic.” Merril was resting her chin in her hands and making eyes at Bethany. When Marian gave her a pleading look, Merril sat up a bit straighter. “I mean, I can understand, Hawke. Growing up with the clan, nothing ever stayed secret for long. Whenever someone was fond of someone else, it was everyone’s business. There’s not a lot of gossip among the Dalish, not like there is here, so I suppose we made do with what we had.”

Marian looked appalled. “Are you taking her side?”

“No! Or yes. Maybe? What was it you wanted me to agree with?”

“Unbelievable.”

Merril turned her gaze back to Bethany. “When are you going back?”

“What?” The response came from both Bethany and Marian simultaneously.

“That’s how the story ends, isn’t it?” Merril asked, carefully looking back and forth between the two of them. “She defeats the Blight to be reunited with her lost love. You have to go back for her! Or she could come here!”

The idea reddened Bethany’s cheeks and soured Marian’s mood. Bethany looked down at the table to try to hide her blush. “I don’t know, Merril. My family is here. And she’s the Hero of Ferelden. She has a life. And responsibilities. She can’t just up and leave. Can she?”

“And that’s why she’s not good enough for you.” Marian pointed at Bethany triumphantly, elbow resting on the table as she settled in for a lecture. “She gets a little bit of attention back home and she forgets all about you. No woman like that is worth your time and you’ll be well-served forgetting about her and moving on.”

“So do you want her to come or not?” Bethany asked irritably.

“No. She’s not good enough for you. Pay attention.”

“But if she abandoned everything for me -”

“Then she’s clearly desperate! Who stops a Blight and goes running off to the one person who’s gotten friendly with them in the last year?”

Hopefully, Tara was just that kind of person, but another year gone and she was still no closer to understanding how her sister’s mind got from one place to another. “Well, make up your mind!”

“I don’t have to.” Marian folded her arms defiantly. “I’m your sister. Whatever she does, she won’t be good enough for you.”

Varric chortled. Merril looked at Hawke adoringly. Aveline looked like the conversation had just switched to Tevinter and promptly said as much. “That makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to.” Again, the siblings answered together, though in very different tones. Marian could not have sounded more pleased with herself while Bethany, hopefully, was conveying an appropriate level of exasperation.

Bethany pawed at the mug in front of her, the brown liquid sitting stagnant and unloved even as the rest of the table had drained their tankards several times over. Isabella had been trying to get her to indulge herself ever since they had met but it had never felt like quite the right time.

She had expected Isabella to be here. This was their last night before going to the Deep Roads and she had wanted the cocky swashbuckler to be here for the story. She would have known what to do.

“What has you so interested in this story now, Varric?” Bethany asked as the thought occurred to her.

“It’s all anyone is talking about, Sunshine. The end of a Blight is a pretty big deal.”

“But it’s been months since the Blight ended and we’ve made no secret of our story. Why ask us now?” Bethany had given up trying to read Varric’s face, but she thought she saw something in his eyes when she asked.

“Isn’t it enough to get my affairs in order before we leave?” he asked innocently. “I’d been meaning to ask for a long time but it never seemed like the right moment. That and your sister has been complaining about this woman for months so I just had to know what all the fuss was about.”

“When I figure it out, I’ll tell you.” Marian shook her head disapprovingly at Bethany and sighed. “She’s just got bad taste.”

Bethany glowered at her. “I could have joined the cloister and you would complain that I was living a sheltered life!”

“Of course, because you would have been.”

Varric continued to laugh as Bethany looked around for anyone willing to call out her sister’s obvious insanity. Aveline and Merril were no help, and when Varric did finally speak up, it was only to say “Ah, family.”

It should not have explained everything away, but it did. Bethany sighed and gave her sister a miserable look. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know I haven’t found anyone half as interesting in Kirkwall. Unless the Templars that come to take me are surprisingly chivalrous.”

“She wasn’t chivalrous, she threw Darkspawn at you by the fistful.”

“And if I do find anyone, it seems I can rest assured that you will drive them away in no time.”

Marian smiled winningly. “Only if they’re not good enough for you.”

“You’re blaming her for the Blight! How good she was has nothing to do with it!”

“Not the whole Blight,” Marian corrected, patient as a school mistress. “Just the parts she told you to stop. Bethany, she nearly got you dragged off by Darkspawn. She made you burn down our home. You might be willing to forget that but I’m not about to let her off so easily.”

Bethany had never forgotten that, and in all likelihood she never would. It was just easier not to think of it. When she forced herself to remember that moment, standing outside Lothering and condemning so many of her neighbors to death by fire or Darkspawn, she was nearly sick. It was inhuman, monstrous, and unforgivable, but she had done it. Tara had given the order, and she had obeyed, and now all of those people were surely dead.

But they were here. Some of them had survived it, against all odds, because of decisions like that. They did what they had to do, and Tara had tried so hard to take that burden for herself. She had done everything she could to keep everyone else’s humanity intact even at the cost of her own.

And that was something Bethany would never forget.

“None of the best stories are simple, Hawke,” Varric said as he closed his little book and tucked away his quill. “And their characters are always just as complicated. You should be happy your sister found someone like her. She could have done a lot worse. Just look at your uncle.”

The mention of Gamlen abruptly united the two sisters as they shared a look of disgust. Marian made a face like she was trying to choke down a potion. “I suppose he’s a bit worse.”

Bethany preened and Varric gave her a little bow from his seat. “Thank you, Varric.”

“I’m just buttering you up for an interview, next time we see her.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you, assuming we ever see her again.” Bethany again felt that pang of loss that so often came with talking about Tara. She should have stayed. Maker, everything here had been such a mess. Mother spent her days trying to turn back time and undo Uncle Gamlen’s mistakes. If they had just stayed in Ferelden, she would at least have her memories to cling to. A sweet lie might have been preferable to the cold, rat-infested truth.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Varric said.

Then he stood up, looked right at her, and _winked_.

He went on to say goodbye to Hawke and spin more marvelous words about the great adventure they were undertaking and what would happen upon their return. Marian spoke next, blithely discounting the hordes of Darkspawn and delivering several backhanded compliments aimed at Tara, but Bethany was not paying attention. Aveline provided the voice of caution and Merril fretted over the dangers of being underground for so long, to which Bethany actually did listen. She rather liked the open sky. Being trapped beneath a thousand tons of stone was not exactly her idea of a good time.

Soon after, the soon-to-be explorers all took their leave. Aveline took the road back to Hightown while Merril followed them home before walking on to the Alienage. Marian, unwilling to break character, went to sleep after a few cheerful comments about their last nights in poverty. For her part, Bethany went to sleep restlessly, worrying over facing the Darkspawn again and wondering if surviving the Blight had been the extent of their luck. When she did sleep, her dreams were mad, fitful things, haunted by long shadows and bloody, too-wide grins that shone in the dark.

But they were not the only things in her dreams that night. That knowing look had stirred something in her, and in the shadows of her mind, a bit of light crept in. Another smile, this one kind and comforting, appeared, to promise her that this was not the end. She had survived this once before, and she would do it again. Hope, that she would see another day and that she would know that smile again, began to kindle in her heart.

It was a faint hope, an impossible one, but she clung to it all the same.

  
**End of Part 1**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! I have a story planned out that will take Tara and Bethany through their adventures both in the Deep Roads and Kirkwall, but it will have to wait a bit longer. Hopefully I will be back soon for Part 2 but, until then, thanks again for stopping by.


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